


The Junkertown Club

by niichts



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bootleg, Christmas (sort of), Crime, F/M, Gangsters, Jazz - Freeform, New York, Rise to Power, Romance, general gangster AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-12 16:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12964083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niichts/pseuds/niichts
Summary: Crime. Money. Power. The female manager of the Junkertown Club (known as "The Queen", to her insignificant underlings) has her empire laid out for her. A wide array of hired muscle. Her tough-as-nails bodyguard, Mako Rutledge. Plenty to blow the opposing club, The Talon, right away - both figuratively and literally. Oh, and of course there's her personal servant. That Fawkes kid. But he's an absolute nobody. It's not like he can do anything else other than cater to her every whim and demand...right?(Overwatch gangster AU set in modern day New York)





	1. The Queen

The heavy end of the baseball bat went sailing across the man’s jaw, causing him to tumble backwards onto the ground, a trail of blood spewing behind him. The guy heaved up a tooth onto the asphalt before a second blow knocked his head forwards again, this time resulting in a tremendous _crack_ resonating from his nose.

The pony-tailed woman with the red, fiery, partially shaven hair brought the bat up to her face and licked the blood off the end with a smile that looked as friendly as a starved vulture.

“You see?” she said simply, more to herself than any of the other men surrounding her. They were just hired muscle. They didn’t deserve any direct address. “This is why I love being called the _Queen._ Got a bit of a medieval ring to it, doesn’t it? And if any of you thick-skulled slugs has the first clue about royalty in the Medieval period, you’d know that anyone who steals from them…”  
She gave the struggling man enough time to get back up on his knees before striking him again, relishing the impact of the blow and his muffled cry.

“…faces one hell of a punishment.”

Her target had given up trying to stand and instead crawled slightly to the side. Oh, how fun it was to watch them try and get away. She stood on his ankle and twisted the bat round in her hand to draw out the panic smeared all the way across his features. He drew out both his hands in a weak defence and spoke as best he could through the steady stream of blood flowing from his nostrils.

“I’ll get it, I’ll get it!” he cried, welling with tears, “I’ve got the money in my shack! That’s where it is! I swear to God!”

She slowly leaned forward so they were eye-to-eye, making sure the end of the bat was in plain view at all times. She smiled.

“Swear to me.”

And before a split second could pass, she lashed out and clawed at his face with her nails. He let out a rather unusually high-pitched squeal as she stood over him, brandishing her weapon ruthlessly and proceeding to continually batter him further.  Faster and faster and faster and faster-

Only then did she realise how much she was growing goose bumps along her bare arms from the winter cold. The snowfall in New York was always lovely to watch from inside, but man, was it annoying when you had to beat up the traitors in it.

She snapped her fingers, figuring the guy wouldn’t exactly be on his feet anytime soon.

“Drink.”

Nothing. The amassed thugs just stood there as idly as usual.

“Drink!”

Silence resonated.

“ _Boy_!”

A lanky, wiry youth behind her jumped suddenly and pulled a hip flask from his belt before handing it to her. His blond hair seemed to quiver along with him as he flashed her a gold-toothed grin that faded as quickly as it had come when she snatched it off him roughly.

“And what’s your excuse for your lack of attention this time?” she snapped.

The youth opened his mouth only to close it again.

“I – uh – I was just admiring your work.”

She raised a dangerous eyebrow, one that caused the boy’s life to flash before his eyes.

“I mean, uh, I was just admiring your work, my Queen.”

She turned away from him, taking this as an acceptable answer.

“We still need to be working on those manners of yours, boy,” she said in-between mouthfuls of steaming coffee, “Trust me when I say that your rather understandable amount of admiration is the only reason you’re not down on the ground with _that_ wreck-“she pointed to the bruised man, now crying into the asphalt – “getting a firm beating too.”

She finished half of the drink and turned back to him as he wilted under her gaze.

“Y-yes, my Queen.”

“Very good. Now you can finish my drink for me…”  
The boy frowned, his blonde eyebrows knitted together in visible confusion. “My Queen?”

Employing her usual tactic, she waited for him to be in the optimum position before undoing the flask’s cap for the second time and dumping it over his head, causing his spiky strands of hair to flop forward and soak his face.

“There you are. Enjoy” was all the explanation she gave over his choked spluttering, before re-affirming her grip on the bat again for round two.

“Good one, my Queen!” he managed, forcing out a hesitant laugh through the dripping locks, but she was no longer paying him any attention as she was began to focus primarily on her prey again. The prey, of course, began clutching his head as if it would do him some sort of good. She was just about to prove him wrong for the twentieth time but was stopped just as the bat began its descent and the guy immediately resumed his squealing.  Another blank-faced bartender came over and delicately whispered in her ear.

“Ma’am, Captain Song is here to see you.”

The Queen’s vampire smile faltered for a second before being placed by another that showed less teeth, but just as much malice.

“Of course.” She replied, smoothing back the small amount of hair that had come loose during her little…exercise period. The squealing man dared open one eye just in time for her to give him a final kick across the face. She turned to the bodyguard directly opposite her, who hadn’t seemed to have moved an inch the whole time. His entire face was hidden behind a pair of pitch-black sunglasses and a yellow balaclava, with a matching handkerchief tied in a bandana around his greying hair. One of her men had once told him he’d looked like one of the pirates of old and asked whether he needed directions back to the nearest port in spite.

As far as the Queen knew, he was still in the intensive care unit.

“Keep him company Mr Rutledge, will you?” she asked simply.

“Of course, my Queen” came the gravelly voice from behind the covering. She liked Rutledge (or Mako, as he allowed a _very_ select few to call him) though she’d never admit it out loud. She threw him the bat which he caught easily in his gigantic hand, before snapping her fingers as she began to walk out of the back alley and into the club again. This time the boy understood and scurried over like the little guttersnipe he was, making sure to follow at a respectful distance. They entered through the emergency door by the performance stage, where a small yet fierce looking girl sat by the bar, wearing a blue uniform and… _police badge?_

The Queen could practically feel her servant boy wilt behind her and shot a glare in his direction as she sat on a stool next to the girl and waited for her to speak. It was all a matter of who could scare who now and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be intimidated by some twenty-year old Korean girl with a damn _bunny pin_ by her police badge.

“Officer Song,” she began, trying to conceal her contempt, but the look she received told her it hadn’t exactly worked. Not that it mattered anyway. “I heard your career in the police force has been…successful, to say the least.”

“Indeed,” replied Song. Her voice was too high for her chosen profession, but the Queen forced herself to listen in case she let something slip. “You’d be amazed at the number of seemingly legitimate businesses that turn out to be nothing but a den for crooks.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed. So I’ve just come over to see if you want to declare anything you shouldn’t have and get away with a caution. Of course, you most likely have nothing, Miss…?”

“Please, call me Queen.”

“Miss _Queen_. The area your club is situated in simply has quite a few offences underneath its belt, you’d understand.”

“Of course, my dear” the Queen replied with too much sweetness than necessary. “But where are my responsibilities as a host? I must serve you a drink. Boy?”

While she’d only joined the force a few months back, Officer Song (otherwise known as Hana to her friends) had had enough experience within the criminal underworld to recognise a guilty person from an innocent one. Her colleague Orisa would often joke that if it wasn’t for the human rights system, she’d just sling them in jail without a trial. Half the time, however, Hana wasn’t exactly sure whether she was fully against the idea. Especially when near suspects who couldn’t look as obvious if they tried – in other words, the lanky fellow with the height that made him look twice as old as he probably was, trying his best to serve drinks without spilling alcohol all over the bench.

“You haven’t got many Christmas decorations up I see, Miss Queen” she stated simply, taking the small glass from the boy’s trembling hands and trying not envision the blackened state of his nails as she drank.

“Ah yes, our budget’s a bit low nowadays. More… _unorthodox_ businesses in the area have been vandalising a lot of our suppliers and sources of income, you see. It’s a shame to think that I had to build this place from my own blood, sweat and tears while others simply steal for a living.”

“Indeed” replied Hana, in a tone that implied she hadn’t been listening to a single word that had just been spoken. The Queen forced the smile back onto her face and stood up from her stool.

“Well with all due respect, Miss Song, I must return to business for tonight. As you have noticed, we do indeed lack the festive decoration and so we shall have to work extra hard in order to get things ready for the big celebration next week. The city festival, you remember?”

“Of course” Hana responded, also standing up and placing her now empty glass back down onto the bar. She flashed the boy behind it a smile which he returned through a face drowning in sweat. “Just make sure nothing you do paints you in a bit of a negative light, yes?”

“Very well, officer. I hope to see you again.”

More insincere words had never been spoken. The Queen watched the police officer’s steadily retreating backside as she walked away from the dining area, past the dance floor and through the double doors out onto the street. Upon which she grabbed the empty glass and hurled it across the counter, watching with malice as it shattered weakly against the wall. Her servant had just enough time to duck as it sailed only centimetres over his head.

“Listen boy,” she hissed, indicating that he’d better understand or she’d be throwing him next, “that police officer just threatened me. Nobody threatens me, you hear?”

The rapid change in atmosphere was beyond unsettling. It took a while for the kid to find his voice.

“Yes. I mean, yes, my Queen.”

“Go to the Talon club over the other side of the city and see if you can hire an assassin. That girl’s bad news and I’m not kidding. She’s busted half a million good accossiates of mine and it stops here, get it?”  
His head nodded so quickly she thought for a moment that it might fall off. “Yes, my Queen. Hire an assassin. Of course.” He spun on his heel and began to walk as fast as he possibly could from the room.

“Oh, and Jamison?” she called back, which caused his hand to freeze on the door handle. She’d used his first name. That was when she was at her most dangerous.

“Y-yes, my Queen?”

“Make sure this assassin’s _good_ , you hear? If they fail, I will be very cross. And you don’t like me when I’m cross, do you?”

Jamison rubbed his arm. The scars from the shattered beer bottle had only just faded last week.

“No, my Queen. I don’t. But- but how will I know if their skills are – uh – _suited to the task_ , ma’am?”

The Queen decided she could spare the money to waste another whiskey glass. She tossed it towards the door, which he took as the hint to get out. “Use your damn imagination!”

She rolled her eyes as she heard it slam in a panic before strolling in the direction of the back alley. Mako. Now _there_ was an employee who didn’t talk back. And she really fancied taking her anger out on someone too.

“ _Men_ , honestly.”


	2. The Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was indeed a pretty girl in Jamison's eyes. There was just that slight problem of her being employed by the Junkertown's rival club and also the fact that her money was honestly got by. It would indeed cause quite a few (for lack of another word) hitches if he tried anything.

Unlike the Junkertown club, the Talon considered itself to be highly “elite”. The Queen and her men, in their perspective, were a group of uncivilized brutes who used their premises as nothing but a place to get drunk and promptly beat each other up. Therefore they avoided the Junkertown and the Junkertown avoided them in return. But once or twice dealings would have to go down, usually in terms of business – if, for example, a certain employee within one of the businesses was an undercover police officer, the other would tell you which if the price was high enough – or occasionally for more personal matters. And looking to hire a trained killer was anything but business.

Jamison always tried to avoid assassins. They weren’t exactly known as the most sociable people and tended to be rather bad for your health. Whenever one was strolling over to collect payment from his boss, he’d often try to make himself look as small possible in case one decided to put a bullet through his head for some reason – often trying to hide behind the biggest possible enforcer as she carried on with things. Provided he hadn’t recently pissed her off, the Queen could actually be strangely protective of him sometimes, though that may just have been to avoid looking weak on her part. _Yeah, it was most likely to be the latter,_ he grimly mused to himself as he walked up to the club’s diamond-engraved door, the rim lit with purple neon strips.

He knocked twice, noticing the beat of jazz music obviously coming from the other side of it. A few seconds dragged by before a slit opened to reveal a pair of deep brown eyes glaring into his own. One of the eyebrows rose inquisitively.

“Well, would you look at the vermin that showed up at our club’s doorstep. Come to switch employee, Junker?”

_Junker_. The cruel nickname that patrons and staff alike in the Talon had for those who served at the Junkertown. Jamison pondered to himself. Maybe he should’ve changed out of his scabby red waistcoat and matching bow tie. He was really starting to get sweaty underneath the white collared shirt too. Then again, the Queen hadn’t exactly given him a limitless amount of time for him to leave in.

“Listen, I’m not causing any trouble ma – I mean, sir. Trust me. I’m only looking for… _hired help_.”

Silence resonated before the slit closed abruptly. He was just about to turn and head back to another inevitable beating when the door swung open, spilling multi-coloured disco light over him.

“Come on in” said the guy whom he’d just spoken too. He was dressed in the formal black suit of an average bodyguard, with jet black beard and the tanned skin of someone of a Hispanic background. His nametag read “Gabriel Reyes”, though he didn’t look like the sort of guy you’d stop and ask directions to the bar from if you wanted to live enough to get there.

Jamison settled on simply nodding as a thank you, slowly stepping in. Reyes promptly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shoved him forwards to speed things up, causing him to go tumbling into a rather rough-looking, bare-chested man and spill his drink. Even though most of the club was in complete darkness besides the rapidly-changing vibrancy of the main stage, he could see the glare seeming to pierce his very soul. He sheepishly grinned and raised his arms in surrender before backing off as inherently fast as he possibly could without looking like he was up to something. A sudden cheer rose from the amassed crowd of suit-wearing politicians and shot-drinking businessmen as the band abruptly stopped and a woman in a black velvet dress with blue eyes and blonde hair tied back in a ponytail came onstage and spoke into the closest microphone.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. If you will have the graciousness to wait for a little while, our newest singer will be on shortly! In the meantime, please feel free to return to the bar for another pint if you so wish.”

A pint was the last thing on Jamison’s mind as he looked around the maze of seemingly infinite tables, the flashing of strobe lights making it incredibly hard to make out any faces or specific details. How the hell was he meant to figure out who was an assassin and who wasn’t in a place like this? After all, there were always a certain number of average citizens mixing in with the scum of the underworld; otherwise the façade of a legitimate nightclub would be lost. Simply going up to someone and requesting a hired hit when they had absolutely no relation to that sort of thing would be rather awkward, to say the least. Not to mention the questions it would raise.

Then it hit him. The storage area and back rooms. They were nearly always coming in useful. Perfect place to hide…well, anything. He scanned the area for his target and spotted it quickly – a bronze plaque on the left side of the stage that read “STAFF ONLY”. Straightening his bow tie, he tried to his best to navigate the cluster of seating as if he had every right to be there. A few waiters noticed his uniform and gave him a quick glare before serving customers, but besides that he managed to get his back against his chosen door, check to make sure no-one could see him under any of the flickering lights, and promptly fling himself inwards.

The corridor he was lead into was, well, _disappointing_ , by his expectations. While it was nice to get a source of light that wasn’t trying to give you a seizure every few seconds, there was very little he could appreciate. The walls were a stark white, a few empty packets littered the ground and a shattered mirror lay propped against a few crates of wine. He dropped the attitude of a confident employee and moved as silently as he could, looking for a room of sorts that may be around the corner. He was met with a mirror similar to the one he’d just seen, except it was unbroken and surrounded by separate halogen bulbs. A mannequin stood nearby, devoid of any clothing or props. Obviously some sort of disused dressing area, he thought, reaching for the handle of what looked like a cupboard door when-

“I’m telling you Angela, I cannot do this!”  
He hurriedly withdrew his hand away upon realising the direction from which the sudden voice was coming from. Not entirely disused, it seemed.

“Listen Mei, you signed up for this. Do you want the money or not?”

Jamison recognised the tones of the woman who’d previously been announcing the arrival of the next act, except this time it was far from warmth and grandeur.

“I agreed to work for this place because I need to pay my rent! I was envisioning a job as a waitress, not some kind of…dancer!”

“Singer.”

“Either way, I refuse to be ogled at by countless men! All I want is a career that doesn’t humiliate me every single night and pays the bills to get by!”

A sigh of hopelessness. For whatever reason, it caused his heart to ache somewhat.

“Listen Mei, you have to do this if you want to remain here. You know how hard it’s been to get a job given your family’s past…affairs. Please just go with it. I’ll see you onstage in five minutes.”

Silence punctuated only by the rapping of heels and the closing of a separate door that seemed a million miles away.

Jamison mentally smacked himself out of his stupor. This was none of his business. It was too bad that this girl was so unhappy with her lot, but he had nothing to do with it. Life was hard and that was just the way it was.

He turned to head further down the corridor when the stifled sounds of weeping hit his ears.

_Just ignore it. Just ignore it and it’ll go away. Come on. What will the Queen do to you if she found out what you’ve been up to all this time?_

“Go in, don’t go in, go in, don’t go in” he muttered under his breath, weighing up his options. In the case that he actually did enter the room, what was he even going to say to this obviously distressed lady? “Go in, don’t g-“

The decision was rather suddenly made for him as the door swung open directly into his nose, causing him to stagger back and holler, more in shock than pain. In the corner of his vision he could make out a blue humanoid mass. He was about to pull himself out of his crouching stance and shout a few chosen obscenities at whoever had just assaulted him like that, but stopped short upon realising a pair of watery hazel eyes had just made contact with his own.

The hazel eyes connected a soft, plump face with hair of a similar shade, all tied back with an ornate hairpin. The length of blue he’d vaguely spotted through the pain was in fact a flowing backless dress with a wide brim along the front that only just avoided showing her breasts and two hands, one wearing a pearly white bracelet, wringing in worry.

“Oh my goodness, are you alright?” came a voice from those lips. It was a remark of concern, but to Jamison it was like a choir of angels. “I’m so sorry, I’m having a bit of a bad night, I…can I help you at all?”

Jamison could only stare, the blood in his body rapidly rushing to his face as he tried to formulate an answer.

“Sir? _Sir?”_

“I – yes! Yeah, I’m fine darl. Just a tad lost. I think. Er – how are ya? I’m Jamison Fawkes, by the way. That’s my real name, anyway. Guys down at the club got a whole bunch of other ones, though none are too nice. I, um, nice weather we’re having. What’s your name by the way?”

The girl blinked in succession a few times, obviously trying to make sense of all his ceaseless yammering. It was probably the most he’d talked all day.

“Oh, um, my name’s Mei. Nice to meet you, Jamison.”

“Please, call me Jamie! Or call me Jamison. If ya really want to call me Jamison, I guess ya can.”

_Shut up!,_ his mind screamed at him in return.

He extended a hand from lack of anything better to do, which she hesitantly took and he gave it a stern shake.

“Say, whatcha do around here, anyway? Ya don’t much look like waiting staff.”

Jamison wasn’t the most experienced when it came to first impressions, but he know that they usually worked best when the other person didn’t know you’d been eavesdropping on them only minutes beforehand.

“I’m a singer,” she said, wiping the red rims around her eyes in an attempt to hide what he already knew had happened, “or at least have to be. It’s hard work where I come from, you see, and I really need the money.”  
“Oh.”  
It was honestly the only real responses he felt he could give. It was not like he could help her. If he helped every upset woman in this hellhole of an underworld, he really wouldn’t be much of a gangster, would he? Not to mention that the Queen would quite literally cut off his head and stuff it for display over her fireplace. He’d have a particularly nightmarish hour discovering all her other “trophies” in the Junkertown’s own storage cupboards when he was (of course) carrying out all her menial chores for her.

It was probably time to go.

“Well, uh…good luck, Miss Mei. Hope it goes well for ya.”

He cringed at the way his accent ended the sentence, as Australian slang was far from a heart-warming sound. To his surprise however, he briefly noticed a slight tug on the edges of Mei’s lips which almost formed a light smile.

“Thank you, Mr Fawkes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be onstage by now. I hope to see you around in the bar sometime soon.”

And without another word – let alone as to why he was even snooping around the private areas in the first place – she swept off in some random direction, leaving him standing there as if struck by lightning. His throat seemed to have lost the ability to speak and it therefore took quite a few seconds to get any strangled words out:

“Holy shit. I think I’m in love.”

The phrase resonated along the empty corridor as he started to try and remember how to walk. He was just starting to come out of his state of pure awe and recollect the fact that he had to begin by moving his legs, when a rather familiar voice snarled in his ear.

“Great. Now let’s see whether that’s a good enough excuse for the boss as to why you're sneaking around in his private areas.”

He opened his mouth in a rapid apology, but couldn’t get the words out in time as he spun around to see Reye’s fist make rapid contact with his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's Mei. A reluctant club singer and an aspiring criminal, how could things possibly go wrong? As always, drop those comments on what you like and if you want to see more.


	3. Secret Dealings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamison thought having one terrifying employer was enough. Yet here he was making secret dealings with an enemy employer in the Talon club behind her back. The only question now is which mobster would kill him quickest if he manages to piss them off too badly. Preferably with a bullet.

 

The world came back into view for Jamison via a sharp slap across the face. His cheek stinging, he opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Had he slept in? The alarm usually went off at seven and there was no particular reason for it not to have…

He tried to stretch his legs and arms only to realise they were tied to a simple wooden chair he was sitting on.

That wasn’t good.

He looked upwards to see if anyone was nearby to help him out of this predicament, because this certainly wasn’t his bed and judging by the lack of rotting walls, this definitely wasn’t his bedroom. It was just his luck that the people he saw standing before him were most likely the four folk who’d want him dead the most.

He was situated in front of a desk of deep oak, smooth and polished to perfection. Someone had obviously spent _hours_ cleaning the thing, but he couldn’t really focus on that when on the other side was a man who looked physically capable to tear his head off in one swift pull. To his left was a tall, skinny woman with dark purple hair that reached down to her legs in a ponytail and by his right was a smaller woman of what he assumed was Mexican or Spanish descent, playing with her phone and not looking the least bit interested.

The man sat forward in his chair of red velvet, the lights of the club reflecting off the dark skin of his bald spot, and it took a few more inches for Jamison to realise who it was.

“Oh, fuck me…” he muttered quietly.

Akande Ogudimu, or, as he was known in underworld circles, “Doomfist the Successor” was sitting there with his arms folded and wearing a light smile that conveyed he had all the time in the world, yet still made Jamison’s stomach churn. Every line of his pearly-white tuxedo was stretched by rippling muscle as his arms moved forward and he began to speak in a deep, rich voice.

“I wasn’t aware the Queen had started sending spies into my dressing rooms, Mr…?”

Jamison was too terrified to even give a name until Reyes slapped him around the back of the head.

“Fawkes, sir. Jamison Fawkes.”

Akande nodded idly.

“Well, Mr Fawkes, she must be getting desperate. As far I can tell, boy, you are far from an experienced infiltrator.”

Below thick layers of dread, a weedy spark of defiance raised somewhere in Jamison’s chest. _Boy?_

“Forgive me sir, I wasn’t at all spying on you, I was just looking for an…an…”

His voice trailed off as the skinny woman with the purple hair slowly left Akande’s side and strolled over, pulling a knife from her equally purple satin dress and bringing it very close to Jamison’s face. He took this as an indication to talk faster.

“I was looking for an assassin. The Queen wants one. So I was looking for one and then your bodyguard here punched me and… here we are. Sir.”

Akande leaned backwards again, seemingly pleased with this explanation.

“An assassin? Well, she could have just rang me. We currently have one of the Shimada brothers with us tonight as an honorary guest. An archer, I so believe. A perfect marksman. I’m sure he’ll deliver a quality service, no matter what the job is.”

The casual way in which he talked about hired murder made Jamison feel slightly queasy, but he managed a grateful smile nonetheless.

“Well thank you, Mister Ogudimu. Thank you very much. If you could possibly untie me, I’ll just see myself out, I’m sure-“

Before he could blink, the skinny woman’s knife moved too far to his throat for his liking. He dared to look up at her deep, emerald eyes and they had “predator” written all over them.

“An assassin, the Queen can have, Mister Fawkes” spoke up Akande, fiddling with the cuffs on his dress shirt, “but on the other hand, you personally require no such service and are therefore not a paying customer. And when unpaying customers wander around my establishment sticking their noses where they’re not supposed to, well…”

The girl with the phone tittered. Jamison was fairly certain she hadn’t even taken her eyes off her device whatsoever in the past five minutes.

“…I’m afraid I have to make an example of them.”

Jamison heard, but didn’t dare believe.

“Amelie, my dear, would you mind taking out the garbage for me?”

The woman’s pale face twisted into a bone-chilling smile as she lifted the knife and slowly pressed it against Jamison’s cheek before panic set in.

“No, no, wait, _please!_ Mr Ogudimu! I was just – I’m just working for her! She ordered me to go around the back of ya bar! I didn’t do it of my own free will! Ya’ve gotta listen to m-“

“Amelie, cut his jaw first, will you?” Akande spoke, his normal voice somehow louder than Jamison’s own shouting, promptly drowning him out. “The accent’s getting annoying.”

Amelie just nodded before scraping the blade’s edge across the left side of his face, not too deeply, but still harshly enough for him to feel the warmness of his own blood running down the side of his face.

“Mr Ogudimu! I’ll do anything! Please, I don’t even like the bloody Queen that much! I’d work for ya, no problem! Want a dishwasher or bartender? Sorted! Delivery man! No bloody problem! Honest to God, mate –“

The blade was coming closer and closer to his neck.

“Oh, and one last thing, Mister Fawkes,” Akande spoke up again, heading towards the door with the phone girl and Reyes, who was grinning like a malicious Cheshire cat. “You may want to hold your breath and slow your heart rate a tad before Amelie drags that thing across your throat. She likes to…ah… _play_ with her food before eating it.”

“Bloody hell mate, don’t leave me with ‘er-“

“See you round, Junker” Reyes said when his boss didn’t bother reply. “Hope it goes quickly.”

Jamison knew there was no other option as the blade’s edge came perilously close to his Adam’s apple.

“ _She’s plotting to take over!”_

Well, _that_ made him stop. As his feet ceased their pace, it seemed as if time itself had come to a standstill. And then he ever so slowly turned to face him.

“Excuse me, Mister Fawkes?”

“The queen…she’s plotting to take over your club, see…” Jamison managed through gasping breaths, still able to feel the blood, “but if ya let me go I can…I can spy on her for ya...tell ya what she’s plannin’…go on mate, no-one will ever bloody suspect…”

Akande held that piercing gaze for a few seconds longer and Jamison braced himself for the knife again, before the heavy silence was permeated by his sudden, rich laughter. He dared to open one eye to see the mountain-sized man wiping his nose with his suit sleeve as the chuckling eventually died down.

“Amelie, take the knife away from the boy’s throat.”

Amelie threw Jamison a scornful gaze as if he’d just ruined the best part of her day, slowly backing away from the chair and allowing Jamison’s breathing to resume normally.

“Thanks, sir…thanks, honestly…”

His heart had only just settled as Akande walked up from behind him and placed both hands on his shoulders with a bit too much pressure.

“You drive a hard bargain, Junker. But I can respect that.”

“Yeah…sure, sir. If ya say so.”

“I’ll let you keep your miserable little life in exchange for your services as a spy.”

“Right. Uh, yeah. Of course, mate.”

“Just two things…”

“Right. Sure.”

“First of all, do not call me _mate._ You are an employee, not a personal friend of mine.”

“Okay, m – I mean, sir.”

“And second-“ the hands suddenly applied a crushing grip that most likely would have shattered Jamison’s shoulder blades had they pressed any harder, “- you don’t tell the Queen about this little deal of ours. Ever. I will send you back with your assassin and you will act as if nothing went wrong.”

Jamison simply swallowed back his fear as Akande’s voice drew closer and closer to his ear.

“Because if I learn that the Queen knows of this deal, or should I lose my stock, men, cash or any part of my business, I will be very angry. I will automatically suspect it is you and will gladly allow Amelie here gut you like a fish. Slowly. Understand?”

“S – sure.”

“Sure, what?”

“Sure, _sir_.”

The hands were finally released and the ropes were cut from behind him, allowing Jamison time to massage the aching parts and wipe the blood from his face with the back of his hand.

“See Reyes, what did I tell you? The boy shows promise. Not a lot, but…I’m optimistic.”

Jamison could practically feel the lethal cynicism in Rye’s response.

“Sure, whatever. Just tell me when you want him shot, yeah? Because this won’t work. Just look at him, he’s a pathetic loser.”

Jamison quelled his pride, deciding not to provoke the psychotic knife lady again. Then Reyes started sniggering.  

“Something funny, Reyes?” came Akande’s cool voice again, sounding just the same as ever yet still managing to sport a dangerous edge.

“Sorry boss, it’s just he’s…” Reyes coughed slightly to cease whatever he found so funny, “…he’s you rat, see. Your little pet _Junkrat_.”

The girl with the phone tittered as Jamison finally stood up off the chair to see them all staring him down from the office exit. A smile scarier than the Queen’s spread across Akande’s lips.

“A nice little agent name indeed. Very well, Junkrat. If you would like to follow Reyes here –“Jamison still managed to take quite a small amount of joy from the way the bodyguard’s face fell – “he will take you to your assassin. Good day.”

 

*

 

After having been lead to the so-called “perfect marksman”, Jamison had to say he was somewhat disappointed. When someone said the name “Shimada”, you instantly pictured a muscle-bound wrestler who could crush human skulls like chocolate eggs. Not some random middle-aged Japanese guy with daft eyebrows and a slender, grey beard. Yet that’s what Jamison got – another factor (besides the whole spying-on-his-employer-thing) that got him constantly worrying about how the Queen would react when they got back to the club, alongside a well-aimed kick to the backside from Reyes as a farewell.

Shimada himself had since proven even less sociable than anyone he’d met in the Talon so far, not even willing to give his first name and turning his nose up slightly every time Jamison attempted conversation with him.

_Bloody ponce,_ he thought to himself darkly, pushing open the doors to the Junkertown and leading the way in, _thinkin’ he’s all bloody high and mighty. I’m a goddamn gangster, for Christ’s sake! Who’s he? Some fancy foreigner with a toy crossbow? I oughta rip his damn –_

“BOY!”

He winced, but felt more exasperation than fear. He here was, going from one life-or-death situation to another. He tried as quickly as he possibly could to sound as weedy as possible and maybe get by with a light beating as punishment for being so late.

“Sorry, I’m late, my Queen, “he remembered to include the formal address at the very last second as she stormed over with murder in her eyes, “but there was a slight difficulty finding th-“

The Queen didn’t spare him as much as a glance as she rudely shoved him aside, instead deciding to focus on the Shimada bloke.

“So you’re the assassin Jamison found, eh?”

The guy was silent for a few seconds more. Then, to everyone’s surprise, not least the Queen’s, he bowed down on one knee and spoke.

“My name is Hanzo Shimada. I am here to complete whatever task you may have in exchange for payment.”

The Queen’s mouth sat agape slightly before she let out quite a girlish giggle. She turned to face Jamison and said quite simply, “we’ve got a good one, here.”

Jamison was just about to nod modestly before realising her eyes still weren’t even focused on him. Looking to his left, he found himself staring at the grossly enlarged stomach of Mako Rutledge, who’d somehow managed to walk up behind him in the last thirty seconds without making a single sound.

“You can go now, Fawkes,” she added in an offhanded manner, turning back to Hanzo, “you’ve done an acceptable job.”

Any urge Jamison had to speak up in indignation was instantly made moot by the full understanding that she’d have Mako forcefully see him out unless he walked away himself. The guy was a human Labrador to the foul woman after all – she only had to whistle and he’d come running. Oh, how he _wished_ he had that power.

He settled instead to grumble internally as he stalked from the room, pausing only to yelp as the Queen raised a hand in a feigned slap and rush from the room.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she said, resuming her more business-like tone. Mako remained stock still as always.

“No matter, madam. He’s an idiot” the archer simply replied.

If two years of having Jamison under her employ had taught her anything, it was that the Queen knew sycophancy when she heard it. And while she couldn’t stand it from her usual lackeys, this man still seemed a lot more deserving. Besides, this was too good an opportunity to waste if it meant the end of that annoying Hana Song girl, not at all worth losing over a silly little rage. She motioned for him to stand up, which he did so with impressively indifferent eyes.

“So…shall we talk details?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the Talon crew, folks. I don't know why, but I always pictured Doomfist as a tuxedo-wearing mobster and I'm still not entirely sure why. Ah, well. Please leave those constructive comments, as they're great motivation as always for me to keep writing or fix what many of you may not be happy with.


	4. Herding the Sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamison couldn't wait to have that much power. Manipulate the assassin, report to Doomfist and try not to be killed in the meantime - simple enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. This was an arse to get out as I really wanted to raise the stakes for this. More Mei-focused chapters coming soon, but for now let's see what everyone else is up to.

Legs groaning underneath him, Jamison walked up to the decrepit stairs of his apartment building, sincerely hoping he hadn’t left anything valuable of his in the club. Anyone who visualised New York as a fantasy realm in which all dreams came true were sure to have their hopes dashed if they ever happened to catch sight of this particular neighbourhood. If he had a dollar for every rock thrown through his window or crude graffiti art sprayed on his wall, he’d be able to afford a club of his own.

“Ain’t that a dreamboat,” he muttered to himself, digging into his pockets and extracting an empty gum packet, a bus ticket and finally his door keys. Fiddling with it in the lock, he heard a heavy stomp of boots echoing across the floor above. Shit. The landlord. He was five days late on the rent.

Finally wrenching the key to the right angle in the lock and throwing himself in, Jamison took a deep breath in relief and promptly choked on the foul odours in his apartment. There was more bare wall than wallpaper now and though he could easily pass that off as a design choice, he couldn’t really think up an excuse as to why there was only a single filament bulb glinting ever-so-dimly to light the whole room against the dark world outside, nor why his dirty socks were piled over the radiator.

Flopping down onto his moth-eaten sofa and sending a cloud of dust spiralling outwards in the process, he tried to collect his thoughts on the past day.

It had all started so normally…well, as normally as working under a bloodthirsty gangster could be. But then things escalated and escalated because of that young policewoman, then shit hit the fan when he was caught by Mr Ogudimu and his protégée in the Talon….

And now he had to spy on one of the scariest women who ever lived unless he wanted to die a horrible death.

Things got so screwed-up so quickly around here that he almost wanted to laugh, had his life not been in mortal danger.    

“Bloody ‘ell,” he said simply, his voice reverberating around the empty room, “what a colossal cock-up.”

The room offered no response.

“Still,” he mused, biting his bottom lip, “that Mei was a stunner. Might be worth headin’ back to the Talon if I see her again.”

“Listen to me,” he added, “all messed up over a girl. What am I, twelve again? I’m nineteen, goddamn it and that’s no age to be getting’ so upstart over a passing piece of skirt!”

The room still deigned to answer.

Suddenly he had an idea. A very complicated idea and one that would almost certainly result in extreme punishment if it happened to fail, but a semblance of one nonetheless.

This assassin had been hired to kill this police officer. So what if he, Jamison, fed the pretentious asshole false information that led to the job being all bungled up? As a result, the Queen would be incredibly angry and most likely attempt to kill him, upon which Jamison could step in and save the assassin’s life, thus having him under his debt. A debt that could easily be repaid by, say…reporting information to Doomfist when Jamison couldn’t. And secondly, even if the Queen _did_ end up killing the archer, Jamison could volunteer to carry out the assassination himself and thus have a suitable chance of going to see Mei and reporting back to Doomfist whilst he was meant to be killing folk.

From that standpoint, it was a win-win.

Of course, a gaping issue was that if he was found out at all, the Queen would no doubt have Mako or one of her other hired pigs put a bullet through his skull and dump his body in the nearby river. Add to that the fact that he’d never killed anyone before and reality came crashing down on him.

But he figured it would be easy enough. He’d seen plenty of hired hitmen before in the club, all acting as if the act of taking another human life was as easy as swatting a fly. He’d be able to psyche himself up enough to kill some dickhead politician or self-centred mayoral candidate no problem.

For Jamison, a smile a day was a rare occurrence. But _two_ smiles in one day were practically unheard of.

“This is one hell of a plan. Bitches won’t see it comin’, will they?” he grinned, leaping up from the couch in newfound excitement.

The room remained as sullen and silent as ever, but he didn’t care.

He had a few phone calls to make.

 

*

 

“Are you okay, Hana?” she heard her partner, Orisa, say from across the desk. She looked up from her phone and noticed the dark-skinned woman observing her in a mildly concerned way.

“Sure, I’m fine. Just a slow day, that’s all. Waiting for Lucio’s big concert next week, so of course the next few days are gonna be going by slow.”

Orisa’s face slowly broke into one of immediate understanding, accompanied by a steadily growing smile. It was times like these that Hana really wondered if she was being talked to in the same way as her Orisa’s younger sister, Efi, a child genius at just twelve years old. Sure, they were the same height, but she was eight years older, for God’s sake. In fact, she was the youngest cop on the New York force, a fact she prided above all else.

“Ah, yes. Lucio. How could I possibly forget?” Orisa asked, in a voice that quite clearly implied motherly mischief.

“Oh, don’t start like that,” Hana began, exasperated, “we’re just friends! He got me a ticket for free, what was I meant to say? No?”

“Must be a very _close_ friend to be giving you free tickets, mustn’t he?” Orisa continued, smile growing wider by the second.

Hana simply practised her glaring at her, which must have been somewhat effective, as Orisa eventually stopped smiling. Emphasis on _eventually_.

“Relax; I’m just pulling your leg. If there was a big event I was excited for, I’d be just as desperate as you,” she conceded, slowly turning back to her computer. Obviously it was time to return to business, despite there only being an hour left until they could have a lunch break. “Have you finished visiting all the bars in the East district? You know what the Captain’s like, if there are any dodgy speakeasies by next week, we’ll be waving goodbye to the Christmas bonuses.”

“I know, Orisa,” Hana replied, rolling her eyes and leaning forward in her chair to look as if she was doing something, “everything’s fine down there, as far as I could tell by a quick visit. A few could do with a wash, mind you, but all are perfectly legal.”

“Your tone implies you aren’t one hundred per cent sure of that.”

“Yeah. Most of them seemed fine, but one or two…there was this one called the Junkertown I visited earlier yesterday.  The owner looked ready to tear my head off at the slightest wisecrack and the lad serving us drinks…if grubbiness was a crime, he’d be public enemy number one.”

“Grubbiness is one of many signs that people who are normally neatly-dressed for work may be partaking in some other activities they shouldn’t. You’ve still got a lot to learn.”

Hana winced as the statement hit her. “Sorry, I didn’t realise!” she almost cried out as she put her head in her hand. “Well, I sure as hell just hope it wasn’t. Morrison will kill us if we were wrong.”

Orisa chuckled slightly. “We?”

“Don’t leave me out to dry.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Hana. Now, how are you doing with the reports so far?”

Hana sighed, almost wishing she could have another lecture on something else she did wrong just to relieve the returning boredom.

“I haven’t gotten very far, I’m afraid.”

Most of Orisa’s face was hidden behind a computer screen, but Hana could still the rising of a single cynical eyebrow.

“By that statement do you mean you haven’t actually managed to do much, or are refusing to do any of them at all out of a blatant lack of effort?”

Hana rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

“I’ll let you have a guess.”

 

Conversations between the teacher and student often went this way, albeit with constant friendly insults and jokes. Orisa may have been older, but could already see after nine months with Hana that she had the potential to outshine absolutely everyone on the force, including herself. If the number of big-time murderers and criminals the youngster had put away in the short time she’d been stationed in New York was any sign, the streets would be the cleanest they’d ever been in a long time.

Still, this was only wishful thinking. Everyone in the station had to pull their weight to achieve such a dream, but it was quite a well-known fact that certain cops were in the pockets of this “Doomfist” crime lord and thus paid to look the other way from time to time.

 

Orisa couldn’t have that. And for now, she was just glad to see that Hana shared these views as well.

 

*

 

Eventually, despite seemingly impossible odds, Hana managed to finish one of her reports by the arrival of the lunch hour.

_One down, twenty-nine more to go_ , she grimly mused to herself, crossing the road in front of the station’s front entrance and into the baker’s opposite, too caught up in dread to notice the Japanese man watching her intently from a bench nearby. He’d sat himself a few metres away, waiting for her to leave, buying a sandwich from a close café so as to avoid looking too suspicious. The sandwich itself (a saddening excuse for egg and cress) didn’t exactly fill him up, but he preferred to do jobs on an empty stomach anyway – less of a chance of a cramp or stitch in the event of a direct confrontation.

He’d put on a blue sweater and managed to cover most of it in a dark black combat jacket to hide his tattoos and blend in with the bustling main street. He couldn’t risk killing her here, not when there were so many eyewitnesses. In the event that she went through a back entrance on her return to the station, however, she was as good as his.

He chewed his sandwich, making a mental note to have some serious words with the man who’d dared sell him such crap.

Then his mobile rang. A cheap, nondescript Nokia that was cheap to buy and could be disposed of easily once he’d carried out the hit. He didn’t bother look at the ID of the caller, knowing that only a select few would have this number. Simply flipping it open, he put it to his ear.

“Speak.”

“Rude,” came a slightly nasally voice down the line and the archer tensed; this was not the Queen, nor any of his Shimada accossiates. Whoever it was, they’d managed to get into an encrypted number and therefore couldn’t possibly be permitted to keep breathing for much longer.  “Manners cost nothing, Mr Shimada. Ya mother never tell ya that?”

An Australian. That vaguely rang a bell.

“This is Hanzo. Who am I talking to?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as he tried his best to remember where he’d heard that voice before.

“There. Wasn’t so bloody ‘ard, was it?” came the response, accompanied by a slightly demented giggle that was rapidly cut off, “Well, fair’s fair. Ya asked. I’m Jamison Fawkes. An accossiate of the Queen’s. We met at the Talon, remember?”

“I don’t remember every face I’ve ever met,” Hanzo said bluntly. This was a blatant lie, it was always useful to remember familiar faces as you could tell if you were being followed or not. But there was no need to make this snivelling worm feel any more important than he was, “but that’s not the point. What is you want, Mr Fawkes?”

“I’ve been asked to pass on some information from your employer.”

“Information? I never knew that the Queen held someone as young as you in such high regard.”

The response was a split second too long.

“Ah, I’m a pretty important bloke, mate. A close accossiate.”

“Really? Because the way she pushed you aside the other night suggests she only ever considers you a servant boy.”

The response was _much_ longer this time. The youth at the other end was obviously trying to control his temper, given the deep breathing that was all Hanzo could hear for a moment. You could practically feel the heat coming from the receiver.

“Ya changin’ the subject, mate. Like I said, I’m just passin’ on a message.”

Hanzo finally decided it was high time he focused. It was all good fun being able to push this lanky nobody’s buttons, but business always came first.

“Officer Song works in a station full ‘a corrupt cops who work for the Queen. There ain’t any reason to be sneakin’ around so often. Ya just gotta wait ‘til she’s alone and stab her or somethin’. No-one else will care when they find the body. They’ll be paid off and it’ll just end up in the bottom of a river or somethin’.”

Hanzo frowned. Body disposal not required? That meant a lot less work.

“I will still be paid the amount agreed beforehand?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing.”

A muffled screeching sound came from the youth’s end which took the hitman a few seconds to realise was a woman’s voice. Having a good idea who, he terminated the call and smiled slightly to himself for what was most likely the first time in days. All the while not caring in the least that he’d abandoned the young man to his potential doom at the hands of a _very_ unhappy-sounding boss.

 

*

Of course the archer guy hung up the moment trouble occurred on Jamison’s end.

The prick.

A monotonous dial tone passed through his eye and fumbled in his brain for a minute as a second shriek erupted from somewhere in the main dining area.

“ _Boy! Where are you?”_

Stuffing his phone into his tattered trouser pocket, Jamison dashed out of the janitor’s closet and towards the front of the main stage, where the Queen was sitting impatiently with Mako. Some of the other men, who were passing in and out of the place with delivery crates, looked in his direction with enormous smiles on their faces, anticipating what was going to happen next.

“Y-yeah?”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed and she gritted her teeth.

“ _What was that, boy?”_

“I-I-I uh, I mean, yes, my Queen?”

“That’s better. Now, I’ve got a special job for you” she said, beckoning him closer with her finger, “one I can only trust you with.”

Jamison could barely believe his ears. A special job? For him? Had his boss suddenly been replaced by an alien impostor?

He leaned in; allowing himself a self-congratulatory smirk at the sudden realisation that he finally might be moving up in the world. She whispered ever so smoothly into his ear, not sounding the least bit angry.

“Bloody hell, ya gullible as anythin’, ain’t ya?”

Jamison was about to reply all too naturally with a blatant “eh?”, but didn’t have enough time to get the phrase out. All he could manage was to frown in bewilderment as a rough hand smacked him full-force across the mouth, black-painted nails cutting his lip as he fell backwards onto the floor, arse-first.

The woman didn’t even look at him, instead turning back to look at her sleeve as the men who had witnessed the whole event guffawed with laughter. Up close, he could hear a wheezing fit from behind the bandana of Mako, who was shaking his head at the same time. Hand over his mouth; he pulled himself to his feet, not trusting any of them not to kick him while he was down.

Clearly not deeming him to be worth her attention anymore, the Queen shot a finger in the direction of somewhere beyond Jamison’s right shoulder. He turned and his heart sank into his knees as he saw the seemingly endless rows of grime-coated pint glasses at the bar.

“Clean up the bar.”

“B-but it’s filthy.”

“So are you. Clean it.”

Swallowing back his pride, he adjusted his bow tie and tried to ignore the sniggering as he walked over to the bar and picked up a glass, wincing in disgust as something brown and scummy on the rim stuck to his finger. Reaching for a cloth, everyone else went back to their grunt work and the room cleared out in time for his ears to catch something rather interesting from the only occupied table in the room.

“…Ogudimu is growing complacent. He’s been increasin’ taxes on cops over the past month, but they’re all too scared of bein’ caught by that new Song girl to go to ‘im and complain.”

Jamison could see her signature crocodile grin growing from metres away.

“The bloke’s herdin’ all his sheep towards me, Mako. We’re takin’ over sooner or later. Ya got in contact with any of them, yet?”

It was a rare thing to hear Mako even says a single word, let alone an entire sentence. But if there was one thing that Jamison’s nosiness had taught him, it was that the big guy always seemed to open up around her.

“I’m tryin’. It’s pretty clear they’re all scared of goin’ against him...” he shrugged slightly, as if the motion was the hardest physical movement he’d ever performed, “…I’m optimistic.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder, the ridiculous size difference giving it a slightly humorous edge. Jamison was fighting the urge to smile, but was internally squealing. Oh boy, was _her highness_ going to regret what she’d just done to him – Mr Doomfist would be very interested to hear about how she was trying to take away his power over the police force.   _Very_ interested.

The snake-faced woman stood up and stormed from the room, making sure to shoot him a glare of pure venom as she passed by the bar and into the manager’s office. He rubbed the rim of one of the many pint glasses vigorously to avoid appearing suspicious under her gaze, but immediately stopped once the rotting wooden door closed behind her.

“What’re _you_ lookin’ at?” came a threatening growl behind him. Shit. He’d forgotten that Mako hadn’t left the room yet.

Oh, wait. He was going to be on his knees begging for mercy by the time Doomfist was informed. Despite the looming possibility of a beating, he allowed a small grin to sneak across his lips and a slight sarcastic lilt to be added to his voice.

“Nothing, _sir_. Nothing at all.”

The grunt he received was either hostile or non-committal, he couldn’t tell. And with that incredibly cohesive response, the yellow-clad ape strode away, every step seeming to cause the flooring to shake – the noise thankfully too loud for him to hear a fit of barely-muffled and crazed giggling coming from further behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my lifeblood. Tell me how I did, as I have to admit - recent messages and kudos were one of my main sources of motivation for sticking with this new chapter! As always, I'll see y'all next time.


	5. A Favour Between Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mei thought having just one job in a legally questionable establishment was bad enough...now she's catering to the whims of one of the management staff as well. Not to mention Hanzo has quite the job ahead of him too. One way or another, Officer Song needs to be taken out and he's certain he's the right assassin to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recent comments have really got me invested in continuing this, so thank you so much for all the positive feedback! As always, I hope you guys enjoy this forthcoming chapter, even if there isn't as much as usual.

Hana knew something was up the minute she stepped outside into the parking lot after her shift and noticed how suspiciously quiet it was. There were at least two other officers that clocked out around the same time she did and neither were to be seen.

Odd, but she thought nothing more of it as she went to her car (a second hand model that she was now saving up money for to replace) and unlocked it.

That was when a bearded Japanese man stepped into her view, posing himself directly in front of the car park’s only entrance and exit. Very dramatic. He looked at a photo in his hand, then back at her, then back at the photo again. Eventually, once he seemed evidently satisfied with something, he put the photo into one of the pockets on his robe and began to speak.

 

“Hana Song?”

 

Hana wondered whether it was wise to answer. After all, it was highly unlikely that the guy was going to give her a greetings card. But the better part of her decided it was best that she spoke up.

 

“Yes?”

 

“My name is Hanzo Shimada. I’ve been hired to kill you.”

_Oh crap._

 

“Right,” Hana replied, trying to sound braver than she felt as she looked around for any eyewitnesses. None. “Care to tell me who exactly hired you?”

 

“A professional never reveals his secrets.”

_Just keep him talking._

 

“Alright then. The reason why?”

 

“To put it simply? You’re bad for business.”

 

“Yeah, that’s me,” she replied, forcing herself to acknowledge the fact that there was really only one option available to her, “a real spoilsport. If you’d ever played Pong with me before, you’d know I just hate it when someone does better than me.”

 

The moment the last syllable left her mouth, she rolled to the side, pulling out her pocket pistol as she ducked under the front of her car. An arrow embedded itself in the bonnet, inches away from her face when she dared to look around. This guy was obviously a good marksman.

Flicking the safety off, she waited a few seconds before sharply standing up from behind her makeshift barrier and firing off three shots in rapid succession – the laser rounds hit nothing but empty air and the front window of a neighbouring car a few feet away. Someone was going to be _pissed_ once they were about to go home, but for now Hana had slightly more pressing concerns. Her would-be assassin had seemingly vanished into thin air.

Cautiously stepping out from her hiding place, she tried to spot any form of movement under the dim lighting and the light dripping sound of pipes. She _could_ make a break for the safety of the precinct, but if she turned her back she highly doubted she’d get very far.

That was when a tattooed fist struck her from behind and the world rocked. She fumbled as her knees hit the floor, trying to reaffirm the grip on her pistol, but it had been kicked away under one of the vehicles.

A thin wire pressed itself around her throat and her vision began getting cloudy. The archer obviously had his bow around her neck, trying to asphyxiate her. If Hana hadn’t been in mortal danger, she would have most likely made a really inappropriate joke about that.

She threw a few punches, attempting to make any physical strike whatsoever, but the strength was slowly being sapped from her arms and dark spots clouded everything. Her ears popped and everything was replaced by a low whistling sound as she could no longer summon enough energy to even move.

That was when a single bang permeated the white noise and the grip of the bowstring was released, causing her to drop her knees and gasp for air, one hand around her neck. She turned and through the blurriness, could make out the looming shape and dark skin tones of Orisa as she fired bullet after bullet at the archer, who ducked and dived in an attempt to dodge them all.

 

“Hana, get behind me!” she shouted over the ruckus.

 

All too happy to oblige, Hana dashed over to the parking lot entrance as the last few shells were spent.

The instant the gun started clicking, Orisa grabbed the bottom of the automatic shutters and pulled them downwards with all her might before the assassin could retaliate, causing an almighty crashing noise that echoed off seemingly every wall in the precinct.

Both officers waited with their ears against the metal in case the archer attempted to break through, but after a good few minutes, Orisa just nodded and sat down on the cool concrete below her feet.

 

“He must have taken an alternate route,” she gasped, clutching her side and steadying her breathing, “ we’ll have the perpetrator’s image described to an artist and on the news before long.”

 

Hana just nodded alongside her. That had been _way_ too close. It was at times like these that Orisa entered what she liked to call “robot mode”, in which her mentor would explain the obvious in a way not unlike a computer would.

 

“Still, it was a good thing I followed you out with your leftover paperwork when I did” she added, smiling.

 

Hana faked a miserable groan. “I should have just let him kill me if that was the only reason you bothered save my life.”

 

A light-hearted chuckle left her partner’s lips, which were cut short as the sound of heavy boots descended the staircase leading back up to the main precinct. Hana reached for her pistol out of pure instinct, but was glad she’d lost it upon realising that she would have ended up drawing her weapon of the New York Police Force’s most fearsome leader.

 

“Well then,” Commander Jack Morrison said impassively, “ _this_ should be good.”

 

*

 

Mei adjusted her bracelet for what felt like the seventieth time as she stared directly at her flustered appearance in the dressing room mirror and silently willed for it to change. The past three nights seemed to have aged her by at about ten years, each line under her eye and loose hair produced by each stress-ridden moment.

 

In short, it looked like she’d barely slept.

 

And she wasn’t entirely sure whether that was an exaggeration, either.

 

“Mei, are you ready for your performance?”

 

Mei rubbed the sleep from her eyes and turned to face Angela, who had come up behind her with a permanently worried look on her face. Despite the rocky beginnings of their relationship, she had really grown to like the blonde woman – she could be calm and motherly, yet somewhat strong-willed if any customers got a bit… _handsy_ with any of the dancers or singers. In essence, she was the unofficial manager of everything that went on backstage, for which Mei was eternally grateful. She even had quite a large amount of medical and combat training under her belt from her earlier life, despite not looking a day over thirty.

 

Compared to her, Miss Angela Ziegler was a woman of many qualities, whereas Mei saw herself as nothing more than a lonely woman with a bad family history with a job she never really wanted. Not that she wasn’t grateful – the official manager of the club, Mr Ogudimu, alongside his three other close associates (Reyes, Lacroix and that third one who she’d never learned the name of) looked extremely unimpressed when she first brought forward her barebones resume, only allowing her to even _step foot_ in the place due to Miss Zeigler’s fiery insistence that she at least be given a chance.

 

 _“Hola, mi amiga”_ came a falsely cheery voice from behind, causing the Mandarin woman to jump slightly. Speaking of the one she’d never learned the name of.

 

“Um…hello. Can I help you with something?”

 

The girl laughed. A light laugh that implied nothing but imminent danger.

 

“No, no, _mi queridocantante_ ,” she replied, pulling out her phone and turning her head away from Mei as if she was no longer worth any of her time, “but I can do something for you.”

 

Mei hadn’t been in the nightclub for long, but she knew from the amount of glares she’d been given from Reyes whenever he passed her by that she was only permitted to go in certain rooms at certain times. It was not her place to say so, but she knew for a fact that there were obviously very dodgy dealings that went down in the place and did not want any part of it.

 

“No thank you,” she said simply, turning back towards her mirror to make it clear that the conversation was finished, “I don’t require any help at the moment thank you, no matter what you’re offering.”

 

Sharp nails of a shocking pink colour grabbed either shoulder and squeezed slightly. As the dress she was wearing failed to protect the arms in any way, she could feel them biting into her skin.

 

“You misunderstand,” the girl said, her voice significantly less friendly than before, “this isn’t just a one-way thing. I want _you_ to do something for _me_ and in return I’ll protect whatever secret you may want me to.”

 

Mei just swallowed thickly, trying her best to put on a brave face. She could now see the girl’s reflection in the mirror above her own, those unnaturally purple eyes burning alongside her devilish grin.

 

“I don’t make deals with criminals” she dared to say.

 

The girl clutched her heart and staggered away, yet still keeping one hand on her shoulder whilst pretending to be mortally wounded.

 

“Oh, you hurt me, _cantante_!” she laughed, causing Mei to force herself not to show her annoyance. You could never let these people see that they got to you. “This is a straight deal! No strings attatched! To put it simply-“

 

The next few words from the girl’s mouth were spoken directly into Mei’s ear, which didn’t exactly make her feel any more comfortable.

 

“- I heard that you’ve been making inquiries about our little Rat-man.”

 

Well, of all the things the girl could have possibly said, Mei wasn’t expecting to hear _that_. It wasn’t exactly a personal secret in dire need of protecting or anything - as a matter a fact, she’d been quite open about it, though to very few results. The lanky, blonde young man who had mysteriously appeared in her dressing room that one night never to be seen again had been the focus of many of her probing questions over the past two days. However, Reyes did nothing but scowl and tell her to get back to work, whilst Angela constantly changed the subject whenever it was brought up. From what little information she could gather, this Jamison Fawkes fellow worked for a rival company that Mr Ogudimu wasn’t very fond of. Nothing else. Especially not why he was suddenly being branded with the title of “Rat-man.”

 

“Yes. Yes, I have” she decided to answer, not wanting to go into details.

 

“Well, I’m afraid our dealings with him are strictly private. And so long as you do this one little favour for me, I will not tell the manager what you’ve been doing. Because trust me, you do _not_ want to bring up something that will make him unhappy.”

 

Mei just nodded numbly, knowing her actions over the past few days had essentially dug her own grave.

 

“Good! All I need is for you to break into our rival nightclub and steal the night’s savings! And that’s it! Just one eensy-weensy little job and it will all be forgiven!”

 

Mei took at least seven seconds to form a coherent sentence through all her spluttering.

 

_“Eensy-weensy?”_

“Obviously! We’re good friends, you and I, aren’t we?”

 

“And…and if I refuse?” Mei said suddenly, daring to pose the question.

 

The girl put on an exaggerated pout.

 

“Well, I will have to tattle to Mr Ogudimu. So, essentially you’ll either do it…”

 

“Or…I’ll be fired?”  


There was a slight delay after Mei’s words, in which the girl’s demon grin returned.

 

“ _Si_ , that’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

 

Despite there being no clock in the room, Mei could almost hear the seconds crawl by.

 

“You’re lying.”

 

“I’m not. I’m not the kind of girl who bluffs. Admit it, cantante. You know there’s something up with this place, don’t you? There’s always a sign here and there that this really isn’t what you’d call an overall…well… _legitimate_ business.”

 

Whatever retort Mei could summon died on her tongue.

 

“I can quit and get a new job.”

 

“No, you can’t. Why pretend that the name Ling-Zhou will get you anything other than a mean glare? And I mean that in the _best_ of cases. Not everyone’s forgotten what your family did. Besides, this isn’t a job you can just _leave_. Deny it all you want, I can tell a sharp girl when I see them. And you and I both know there’s no way out of this easily. So just go ahead and do this one little thing and I’ll leave you alone.”

 

She reached out a hand. The claw-like length of her nails really made it feel like Mei was about to shake hands with the devil.

 

“Deal?”

 

She had absolutely no real options here. And as much as it internally pained her to admit it, there was no other way out of it.

 

“Deal.”

 

They shook. A fateful moment. A horrible moment.

 

“Oh, and one last thing,” the girl said, “You can call me Sombra. Us _chicas_ gotta stick together. But let’s just keep it hush-hush between ourselves, _si_?  This is more of a…personal project than a company one.”

 

Mei could only nod and watch all of her future prospects fly away with the Mexican girl as she dived out of the room in a flash of neon purple. Yet despite everything, that single question burned ever so brightly in the front of her mind: what on earth was so important about Jamison?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Sombra will totally let Mei off after she robs the "rival club" (no prizes for guessing which)...*cough*. Keep those comments coming guys - your ideas for the future of this story may be even better than mine!


	6. The Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mei realises just how bad Jamison's situation is. And to think that only a day ago she'd swore never to become at all involved with criminals.

Doomfist popped the champagne open in a way that looked completely effortless, causing the cork to go flying with the force of a bullet and hit Jamison directly in the face.

 

“Good job, my friend!” he cheered lightly, pouring either of them a glass. It was the middle of the afternoon and no customers were allowed in at the moment, meaning it was just two of them in the vast auditorium alongside Reyes – who, for his part, had not smiled once until now.

 

Jamison rubbed his nose briefly to check it wasn’t bleeding before tenderly picking the glass up and copying his second bosses’ every move. A smear of grease had already appeared on the spotless reflective surface due to his unwashed fingers, but the dark-skinned man seemed to care very little as he downed it all in one go. Again, Jamison imitated this manoeuvre, but was not prepared for what it would taste like – that being a warm bubbling carrying itself down into its thrown and causing him to want to spit it back up. After all, the Queen only really paid him enough to get by with the basic necessities.

 

Not for long, though.

 

“So you’re sure the Queen didn’t manage to dispose of Officer Song?” Doomfist inquired lightly, pouring yet more glasses. However, Jamison felt that in order to stay in the man’s good books, he ought to just go along with it and drink when he did.

 

“Yeah, sir,” he replied, figuring that maybe talking would let him procrastinate long enough from having another drink. “I fed him some false information about the police department’s opinion of ‘er. Said all the other cops were corrupt and that they would just let ‘er die.”

 

“Good job I have such a resourceful young man like you around then,” Doomfist chuckled, discarding his once again drained glass and leaning across the table.

 

_Good job there was another cop that also happened to be wherever he attempted to get her,_ Jamison thought, but deigned to mention it out loud.

 

“Well, if that is all Jamison, you can leave. I’m sure you’ll want to be back in time for the Queen to open everything up. Gabriel, if you could please escort him to the door.”

 

Reyes grumbled under his breath, but said nothing as he led Jamison to the door and pushed him out into the cold night from behind. He just had enough time to see the dirtiest glare being mustered in his direction before the doors slammed shut, thus promptly turning on his heel and allowing the grin to unfurl on his face as he walked. That had been altogether _thrilling_. It wasn’t often that he got to see someone as “tough” as Reyes be given such a patronising job, at least not when it involved someone they once considered beneath them.

 

His good mood even managed to remain with him as he eventually found himself outside the musty red doors of the Junkertown, the first few customers queuing up outside throwing him strange glances as he passed. Not that they mattered. Sooner or later, they would be _his_ customers.

 

Passing the bar, he noticed Mako sitting there with a pint glass in his hand, wiping his mouth from beneath the bandana as a barstool groaned under his weight. And staring directly at him as he did so.

 

Jamison wasn’t sure to smile or keep walking. He settled on smiling, though it didn’t have much of an effect. The beast just continued to survey him from behind those blackened-out biker goggles.

 

Did he suspect something? Not likely. Jamison had made sure he hadn’t been followed whenever he went to the Talon and it wasn’t like he’d just arrived late. The Queen may soon be dead meat, but at the minute she was still alive enough to scalp him in front of a live audience for any tardiness. He eventually settled on ignoring the guy and went over to the cloak rooms to get changed into his ugly waistcoat.

 

About halfway there, he heard a smashing sound coming from inside the Manager’s Office. There was no way it was the Queen – the lights weren’t on and she often preferred to show up later on in the night in order to make more of a dramatic entrance. Either way, the cloak rooms were only a single door away and he really didn’t feel like getting attacked by some unwanted intruder. Then again, if he didn’t stop the intruder, chances were he’d get beaten anyway.

 

The other staff members were too busy talking or laying out tables to notice. If this went well, he could possibly gain a little respect from taking down a hostile burglar.

 

Déjà vu struck him as he debated whether or not to take the plunge and throw the door open. A second muffled smash finally made the decision for him and he shoved the door with all his might (that is, to say, none), flicking on the light switch as he did so, revealing –

 

_“Mei?!”_

*

 

The Spanish girl hadn’t given her any instructions beyond “go in and steal someone else’s property”.

Not that she’d really expected much else.

 

Mei had spent the past hour sitting on a bench outside a shabby café, observing the Junkertown stuff arriving for the night and walking through the front entrance. The front entrance which, she couldn’t help but think, could really have done with a bit of a polish. Going through the back door seemed the most logical step, though there was no telling where the club would exactly keep their funds for the week – the manager’s office would most likely be the most logical place to search first. If she got caught, she could always pretend to be a lost guest, as she had decided to put style higher on the list than practicality and had kept usual singing dress on. It was a near perfect disguise, so long as none of the clientele higher also frequented the Talon.

 

The back of the club was just as shabby as the front, with a single dumpster and an abandoned parking space. Graffiti plagued the walls and what looked suspiciously like human blood was splattered against a nearby baseball bat. Weeds sprung from cracks in the paving and the drains smelled something awful. Though through the nearest window, Mei could just make out a desk and chair through the cobwebs of the frame, illuminated by a strip of light from a nearby street lamp.

 

This _had_ to be where the manager would reside.

 

Mei tried the window and to her surprise, found it unlocked. It slid open almost silently despite its age and she only had to partially lift up her dress in order to fit all the way through. A low mumbling of chatter was emanating from the other side of the door as distant shadows occasionally flitted by. She needed to work fast before someone entered.

 

Ignoring the constant hammering of her heart against her ribs, she dug into the closest draw on the desk and began rifling through it. A few papers…a packet of drawing pins…

 

The slit of streetlamp light illuminated the top half of one of the papers she was holding and she paused for a split second as she noticed something from the corner of her eye.

 

The top of the sheet mentioned import prices, which was fair enough. New York was fairly busy in the lead-up to Christmas and now that early December was rolling around, the place was bound to order extra stock here or there. But what struck her as odd was what was written in the orders column.

 

“Chips”.

 

_Chips?_

 

Casino chips? Or chips as in fish and chips? Either way, neither really sounded like they belonged in a nightclub.

 

Mei flipped the paper over and scanned the back, to notice a second, handwritten note taped to it. The writing was messy to the point of illegibility, but she squinted and tried her best to decode the almost scribble-like scrawl.

 

_Dear Ms Queenie,_

_The Ogudimu imports company has successfully delivered your chips to the closest dock and it will be dispatched to your establishment as soon as possible. Please be aware that you may run into legal troubles if you dispose of them carelessly._

_Many thanks for your services,_

  1. _Reyes_



_(Security manager)_

Reyes? The security guard? Why would he, much less his boss, be delivering things to what was supposedly a “rival” club? Not to mention that the word “chips” was being mentioned again.

 

Mei had (thankfully) never had enough experience with the criminal underworld to know exactly what Ogudimu and his close accossiates at the Talon got up to under the façade of a legitimate business, but she did know that “chips” was bound to be some sort of code. And if the Talon was communicating with the Junkertown using code, then –

 

She stuffed the piece of paper back into the drawer and slammed it shut before she even consciously realised what she was doing. This was another gang. Another gang operating under the guise of an innocent club that was certainly going to get her killed if anyone caught her snooping around. She had to get out and get out fast.

 

In her haste, she failed to notice the movement of her other arm and knocked over a lamp. It collapsed to the floor with a smash, shards of bulb flying in all directions over the wooden floor.

 

Her heart was now threatening to burst its way out her chest and her breathing became heavier as a figure with particularly wild hair grew larger as it approached the door. Backing up towards the window, she once again knocked a mirror on the wall, which swung dangerously. Despite the imminent danger, she stared at it rather than move to stop it, perhaps relying on sheer force of will to halt it in its tracks. Obviously no such luck prevailed and it hit the floor as well, the plastic frame breaking into a collection of nails and small chunks.

 

The dusty chandelier above her head flickered to life from behind her and she felt ready to vomit right there and then. Spinning round and getting ready to run, she only halted upon hearing a familiar voice in a state of complete incredulity.

 

_“Mei?!”_

_This couldn’t be possible._

“Jamison?” she asked out of sheer amazement, turning back around, though at a remarkably slower pace. “What on earth are you doing here?”

 

It was definitely him, though in much more casual clothing – a white dress shirt with the top button undone and black trousers.

 

“Jamison, I – I just, I – _what are you doing here?”_

“I work ‘ere, darl”, he replied, shrugging his shoulders with an uneasy grin, “I just heard a noise and decided to come and ‘ave a look inside.”

 

Mei took deep breaths to calm herself down a little. She was fine. For now. He wasn’t going to hurt her.

 

“Look, Jamison, I – I never wanted to do this, you understand. I was told to-“ she swallowed thickly, “I was told to steal the nightly funds from this place and take it back for one of Mr Ogudimu’s protégées because – well, because I asked too many questions about who you were.”

 

Jamison wasn’t sure to feel touched or paranoid. He decided to settle on feeling touched.

 

“Well, I – I gotta say, ya got guts comin’ in ‘ere.”

 

Mei nodded glumly. “I’ve just realised that this must be another mob den, am I right?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much.”

 

“So you happen to be a criminal too, I suppose?”

 

It sounded like an innocent enough question, yet Jamison felt his heart descend into the cavern of his stomach upon hearing it.

 

“No, I really ain’t to be honest,” he stuttered, basically saying the exact opposite of what he’d told the archer on the phone just a day before. “Not exactly high on the, ya know, the totem pole.”

 

Mei looked slightly mollified by his response and he felt yet another pang of guilt for remembering his desire for power.

 

“I’m glad for you, Jamison. I really am. I just wondered what you were doing the other day.”

 

“Just gatherin’ supplies, ya know?” he lied through his teeth, “We might be rivals and all, but we ‘elp each other where business is good. So long as we don’t attack them, they don’t attack us, get what I’m sayin’?”

 

“A bit of a stalemate, then?” Mei inquired, feeling a somewhat ludicrous smile rising on her face due to the mental image of the two clubs shaking fists as each other but never really making any fighting movements.

 

Jamison’s own hesitant smile returned once again before he even spoke.

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

Seconds passed in a silence that was slow, but overall felt more reassuringly comforting than awkward. That was until an inhuman shriek that drained all of Jamison’s happiness in no more than a split second echoed across the entire building.

 

_“Boy! Where are you!”_

Jamison gulped and rapidly darted his head back and forth as he heard heavy stomping coming towards the door, growing ominously louder with each step.

 

“ _Hide!”_ he hissed at Mei, who made a slight _“eep”_ noise and dived down behind the desk just in time for the door to swing open with such an impact that it cracked the plaster on the wall opposite.

 

The Queen stood, illuminated by the chandelier light with an expression that screamed bloody murder. Someone was destined for an incoming thunderstorm and he had a good idea who. He swallowed thickly as she began to advance.

 

“Uh, hello my Queen”

 

_Stomp._

“Good to see ya again, I’m sure”

 

_Stomp._

“Ya look real nice”

 

_Stomp._

“Is somethin’ the matter?”

 

_Stomp._

“Yeah, I know this looks bad, but trust me, I gotta really good-“

 

His sentence was cut off with a strangled _gurk_ as the Queen grabbed him around the throat and dragged his face towards her own despite the height difference between them.

 

“Mako told me that you’d come snoopin’ around in here. What were ya lookin’ for?”

 

Jamison didn’t trust himself to speak and instead decided to focus more on managing to breathe long enough to survive the current conversation. 

 

She crushed his throat in between black-painted nails.

 

_“_ I am not in a good mood tonight, boy. That assassin ya found failed to kill Song, so I’m already right an’ royally pissed about that. _Tell me!_ Or I swear to God I will kill you right goddamn here, ya little rat!”

 

He tried his best to pry away her hands but her grip was resolutely firm.

 

“This ain’t nothin’!” he tried, “I just ‘eard a noise…thought it might be a robber or somethin’…it was just an animal that got away through the window after smashin’ a few things…”

 

She pressed even tighter. Then without warning, flung him backwards with enough force to cause him to fall backwards onto the desk, massaging his throat. Upon the moment of impact, he could hear Mei squeak slightly from below the wood, but thankfully the thumping of his body hitting the object muffled it out.

 

“Animal or not, you were still wanderin’ into my office. And I don’t like snoopers.”

 

Jamison’s mind scrambled to conjure up a reply, but his entire thought was interrupted by searing pain as the Queen grabbed a fountain pen and in one swift motion, stabbed it directly into his right hand, causing him to cry out.

 

“I’m gonna give ya one last chance,” the woman hissed, drawing ever closer towards him as he tried and failed to pry the pen both out of his hand and her vice-like grip. “And don’t dare lie. What. Were. Ya lookin’ for?”

 

“ _Ya money!”_

 

The Queen’s grip loosened slightly and she leaned backwards to straighten her posture, her face now stone cold and silent. Jamison had of course told a bare-faced lie, but if they lingered in this room any longer, the vile woman might find Mei.

 

“So… you’ve been tryin’ to steal from me, have ya?”

 

Stealing was a crime punishable by death when it came to the Junkertown. Usually it was just a bullet to the head around the back of the club, but Jamison knew that in his case it would no doubt be something much more drawn out and painful. He was always the Queen’s punching bag and she would most likely have no qualms about having one more boxing session before he died.

 

“Not steal ma’am, no,” he tried, seriously beginning to panic, “just lookin’ for my wage. I lost my cheque ya see and was just checkin’ to make sure I hadn’t left it ‘round here.”

 

The Queen remained stony and impassive for a few seconds more. Then she yanked the pen out of his hand, causing him to instinctively curl up slightly whilst nursing it. The hole wasn’t too deep, but there was definitely a lot of blood.

 

The Queen licked the edge of the pen slightly, which caused Jamison to wince slightly in disgust.

 

“Ya blood tastes weak, boy, but it doesn’t taste of lies. I’ll let ya off lightly this time.”

 

Jamison managed to nod through the pain.

 

“But that don’t mean ya goin’ without punishment whatsoever. I’m gonna have to give you a little beatin’ just to make sure ya don’t get any ideas like this into your head ever again.”

 

“But-“  


“I know, I know, this must be…what, the third time you’ve displeased me? But apparently the message still hasn’t _sunk in_.”

 

She strode back  towards the door, placing her hand on the knob and fixing him with a stare as cold as an arctic winter.

 

“You’re a servant boy. A little rat I found on the streets. You,” she added, pausing for the final blow, _“are a nobody_.”

 

She turned away from him, opening the door back up again and nodding at Mako, who’d obviously been listening in from the other side.

 

“I’d better see ya up onstage in about five minutes Fawkes, or you’re pathetic lil’ life is gonna be in even deeper trouble than it is now, get me?”

 

Jamison couldn’t help but let out an involuntary whimper.

 

“ _Get me?”_

 

“Y-yes, my Queen.”

 

The door slammed shut with a _thud_. Empty. Final. Hopeless.

 

Mei stood up from behind the desk, not sure what she should really say.

 

“Jamison, I –“

 

“The cash is in the very bottom drawer. In a brown envelope. I’ve seen it when she’s payin’ mercenaries. Should be a few thousand in there.”

 

She checked. And sure enough, there was.

 

“I just want to say that I’m – well, you’ve just put yourself through a physical assault for me. I – I just – I’m not sure what to do.”

 

“Don’t do anythin’, darl. Just get back to the Talon and get on home. Ya worth it, trust me.”

 

He stood up, and with trembling hands, re-buttoned his shirt. The damaged one smeared blood down the middle, though he knew it wouldn’t matter in about five minutes.

 

And without another word, he edged over to the door, threw her one last glance of fake confidence, and sloped out into the customer area.

 

Once again, Mei was left alone with her thoughts.

 

Jamison had almost given up his _life_ for her. They’d only known her for a few days, yet he was willing to go through all that, even lie about his intentions, just to protect her. Was this honestly the closest friendship he’d ever had? Was she really worth that much to him?

 

The audience made a roaring of approval from what felt like miles away. Mei dragged herself out of her trance just in time to hear the wooden smashing sound of a baseball bat and someone crying out from just beyond the bar.

 

It was simply too much. Mei grabbed the package of money close to her chest, then (with tears threatening to rise) dived out of the window and back into the cold, unforgiving New York night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTS! I NEED THEM! I'M MORE RELIANT ON THEM THAN MY NEXT MEAL! Yes, I need help.


	7. Going Up the Ranks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've been promoted. To bar manager. The position recently became...available."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, comments have really encouraged me to post another chapter. What will Jamison do next? I hope you've had as much fun thinking of what he might plot now that the Queen's finally made him snap!

The deal between Jamison and Ogudimu (or Doomfist, as he insisted to be called, lest Jamison wanted to meet God sooner than anticipated) was fairly regular. Every afternoon, at around four o’ clock, Jamison would show up at the Talon and deliver his report on what the Queen was up to. Doomfist would press him for every last detail, even the little things that one would usually consider extremely trivial.

 

When Jamison summoned enough courage to ask why, Doomfist just laughed that deep laugh of his and winked.

 

“ _Everything_ is valuable, Mr Fawkes,” was all he said on the matter before urging him on.

 

However, last night’s beating had taken the toll on the lanky young man. The Queen had insisted on putting him through his paces at least three times over, as the audience, made up of the regular collection of smugglers, murderers and some of her own men wouldn’t stop screaming for blood.

 

Oh, well. At least Mei had managed to get away. Not that the fact helped his body heal any faster.

 

By the time the Queen had eventually dismissed him with a firm warning of “no hospitals or else”, Jamison’s right ankle sent invisible, burning knives of pain up his leg whenever he took a step. Evidently, it was broken and he resorted to bending it at an angle so he could struggle along with an odd sort of limp. His left eye was blackened and bruised, the numbing sensation taking his mind off the fact that his nose was also shattered and bleeding profusely. Judging by the sound his right arm made when he reached his apartment door and tried to turn the handle, it too was shattered in three separate places.

 

_No hospitals._

Luckily, Jamison had prepared himself for possible catastrophes such as this and had a well-stocked medicine box inside one of his rotting cupboards. Downing a few painkillers with a glass of water, he flopped headfirst into bed without taking any of his blood-stained clothes off first. It was a move he regretted the very next morning, when his injuries remained as prominent as ever. In fact, he was pretty sure the leg had gotten worse.

 

He was no physical form to try and punch something out of anger, so he instead lay there seething for a few minutes as the sun began to rise, formulating his plan.

 

So the assassin had failed. Good. At least _something_ had worked out so far. Now he could approach Officer Song and inform her that she now owned him a debt.

 

He grimaced. No, back up a minute. If this girl was as fierce as the press said she was, all he would get out of that venture would be another injury. Scratch that. Well, what if…

 

He stared at the cracking ceiling for a few more minutes.

 

Jamison wanted to get rid of the Queen, whilst remaining in the good books of the police force for as long as possible. With his stream of information, Doomfist could get rid of her easily, whilst still giving him some of the credit. Easy so far. However, the problem would be dealing with Doomfist and his cronies once the Queen was out of the picture, as he’d still be under the man’s thumb.

 

And what would the point of having a rat be if it’s got no-one to steal from?

 

Jamison was under no delusion that once he’d outlived his usefulness, he’d be a lowly servant boy once again. Except this time with just as much of an intimidating employer. Or worse, he would be disposed permanently in case he decided to start divulging secrets to anyone else.

 

No, Doomfist would have to go too. Only _he_ could remain.

 

“What to do, what to do…” he murmured under his breath, now fully absorbed in his thinking.

 

Obviously, Reyes and the two women that the man was always palling around with would have to go first. All of them seemed particularly loyal and therefore would be a liability if any of them caught wind of what he was up to. He didn’t particularly know anything about the Mexican girl and the Crazy Knife Lady (as he had since decided to call the purple-haired woman), but he knew quite a bit about Reyes.

 

Security guy for the nightclub. Head enforcer, therefore commanding all of Doomfist’s lieutenants. Ex-military, as he often liked to brag. Fiery temper. Now, how could Jamison take those qualities and use them against hi-

 

Oh, yes. Jamison had _just_ the idea. A smile began to form on his face before he felt the unknown pain beginning to blossom and decided it wasn’t worth evilly leering if no-one else could see.

 

He’d obviously need to practise his sinister grins more in the future.

 

*  


Mei fiddled with her bracelet onstage, waiting for Angela to give her her queue from the back end of the nightclub.

 

“Alright Mei, when the music starts, just go with the flow, okay?” she called, to which Mei responded with a simple nod. All she could really focus upon was the thoughts of Jamison risking his own life just to save hers – it was like something out of a cheap romantic thriller.

 

The speakers started playing a slow melody, one which she was not yet totally familiar with, but she started singing anyway in the hopes that it might purge those irritating worries from her mind.

 

It didn’t.

 

_“Hi hello, wake from thy sleep,“_

Jamison was far too innocent for his own good, what with being employed in the middle of a criminal hangout.

 

_“God has granted thy soul to keep,”_

Unless he was just smarter than he looked. And whilst Mei hadn’t exactly seen him enough times to know for sure, she had always been aware of some sort of hidden presence behind those fiery golden eyes.

 

_“All of the power and all of the gain, is entwined in a single name”_

Something determined. Resourceful. Just waiting to break out.

 

_“Frederick, name of care,”_

But what was such a presence planning to do? Though Mei would love to see Jamison soon, she definitely hoped it would be in better circumstances than last time. Maybe visiting the Junkertown on one of her free nights? Though then again, there was no way he’d be able to save her a second time if that “Mako” fellow who saw him enter the Queen’s office also happened to notice her.

 

_“Fast asleep in a room somewhere, guardian angels up abo-“_

**BANG.**

A single gunshot cut across both the music and Mei’s wandering train of thought in a split second. A shriek from Angela caused her to turn towards the main entrance to the club, where four masked men stood brandishing shotguns.

 

“ _Nobody move!”_ shouted the one at the front, pointing his own weapon at her whilst the others fanned out. The few members of the public who had visited the club for lunch (that being the people who _weren’t_ felons) managed to muffle their surprised shouts and screams slightly as they barged through the main auditorium and into the back, where the manager’s office and kitchen were.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Mei managed to catch sight of one of the staff members, a short, portly man with a grubby beard and oily hair in an ill-fitting suit, reach into his pocket and pull out his phone before quickly dialling a number. Unfortunately, one of the robbers who had stayed in the auditorium saw him just as the man was about to put the phone to his ear.

 

“Get over by the stage!” he hissed, pulling the guy by the collar into position just below where Mei was standing and shooting him point-blank in the chest.

 

Mei put a hand over her mouth as his insides went flying everywhere. The guy had always been a little creepy, especially the way he often looked at her whenever her back was turned, but no-one deserved that.

 

On the other hand, the other audience members weren’t nearly as collected as she was and began to stampede for the exits, the robbers no longer bothering to hold them back.

 

“I got the funds, let’s go!” one shouted, running out of the back area with a satchel full of notes. The other three nodded and bolted out of the club, firing off a few stray shots as they did so. It was silent in the auditorium for the next few seconds, Mei only daring to breathe once she heard the revving of a car engine outside and the following noise of it quickly driving away.

 

She stood there, too stunned to move for a few seconds, before hearing a second car pull up and lying prone on the stage. The stomping sounds of approaching boots slowly increased alongside her heart rate until a familiar voice of constant displeasure echoed across the room.

 

“Check the back.”

 

She looked up to see Reyes with two other nameless men, all three of them carrying a machine gun and a low-brow scowl. One nodded and took the lead, with the others following behind him.

 

Checking that Mercy was okay first, Mei hesitated for a short amount of time before following them through into the kitchen. Pots and pans were lying scattered all over the floor and the meat locker door was hanging open. Evidently the entire place had been ripped apart looking for the money. Reyes took it all in with a snarl and walked into the manager’s office, where a couple of nameless accountants that she had only ever really seen in passing lay face-down at the desk, bullet wounds leaking blood all over the oak.

 

“They got the money, Gabe,” one of the lieutenants said, stating the obvious.

 

“I’ve got eyes, Reg” was all Reyes responded with, before turning around at a speed Mei had never before thought humanly possible so as to face her directly. He drew a pistol from underneath his jacket and pointed it straight at her heart.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Th – there was a group of men that came in and stole all your funds”, Mei managed, suddenly finding herself relating to Jamison’s constant fearful stutter, “one of the staff, I think the bar manager, was also shot in the stomach. Is – is he, is he-“

 

“Forget about the bar manager!” Reyes snapped, “Who did this?”

 

“I – I don’t know, they had masks, I couldn’t see!”

 

Reyes kept the gun aloft for a few more seconds before sliding it back into the holster and beginning to walk away. The two lieutenants deliberately made sure to knock into her with their elbows as they followed.

 

“Go home and clean up that dress,” he called back to her as he returned to the auditorium, “and make sure you’re back here by tonight. Guess you’ve got the afternoon off.”

*

 

Once she returned, blood and dirt removed from the satin blue of her stage dress, Ogudimu and Reyes were standing there in front of the man’s body, seemingly unperturbed by the smell. Whilst Ogudimu spoke in that same measured tone of his, he had been injured and it showed. Not physically, of course – Mei doubted even a rocket launcher could stop such a mountain of a man – but his business had just been attacked in the middle of broad daylight. It was, for such a supposedly prominent mobster, an embarrassment. Fire raged behind that deep voice of his.

 

“So someone out there thinks they can simply stroll into my establishment, rob the place and get away with it, Mister Reyes? Am I hearing this right?”  


“No, of course not,” Reyes responded, impatience biting the edge of his words, yet never truly entering them out of hidden fear, “I’ll ask around and see if anyone knew about this. The speed at which it was done…it had to have been planned out first.”

 

“I want results, Reyes, “Ogudimu said simply, turning to see Jamison hobbled through the door and looking slightly bewildered by the available spectacle. “Speaking of which…”

 

He fell silent as the dirty blonde-haired youth limped over, Mei stifling a gasp at how awful he looked. With every step, his right foot was dragged along behind him, causing an emphasised gap between each footfall.

 

“My friend,” Ogudimu greeted, sounding much warmer, “I hope the Queen has not found out about our little deal, no?”

 

Jamison managed a slight smile, showing two rows of blood-stained teeth.

 

“Nah sir,” he muttered, wiping his nose, “she just caught me while I was tryin’ to find information I could report back to ya.”

 

Another lie. Mei was amazed at how fluently he delivered such things. Reyes made a small disbelieving noise through his nose, though Ogudimu either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

 

“You’ve obviously gone through quite a lot of pain for me,” he said, surveying the limp parts of Jamison’s body as one would examine a twisted ragdoll. “And that all changes today.”

 

He lightly pushed Jamison forwards by placing a massive hand on his back, allowing him a closer look at the corpse.

 

“I only need you to answer one question tonight and I shall let you be on your way. Would you have any idea of who might have done this?”

 

Jamison bit his lip.

 

“I know you’ve probably already predicted this sir, but I’d honestly say the Queen. If she saw me, she might ‘ave become suspicious and tried to send these men in to kill me. Not ta mention also stealin’ the funds to hide the real motive.”

 

Ogudimu simply nodded in mild agreement, which caused Reyes’ permanent expression of grumpiness to start glaring daggers at the back of Jamison’s head.

“Not too bad a theory,” he said simply. Mei simply continued to stand there, unsure of whether she was meant to be listening in or not. “Anyway, Mister Fawkes, I believe you at least deserve something from all of this suffering. You no longer have to spy on the Queen for me.”

 

Fawkes’ face morphed into a look of surprise, curiosity and then hesitation in just three seconds.

 

“Instead, you’ve just been promoted. To bar manager.” Ogudimu stepped aside, motioning to the oily-haired body, still slumped lifelessly against the stage. “The position recently became… _available_.”

 

“But sir, if I – I mean, I’m proper chuffed and all, but – what will the Queen do when she finds out that I’m now workin’ for ya the whole time now? She’ll probably come in ‘ere ‘erself and try to take me head.”

 

“Let me deal with the Queen,” Ogudimu reassured him, “and take the night off. I’ll talk to her tomorrow morning before she has any chance to come after you. I’m sure we’ll work out a deal.”

 

The dark-skinned manager clapped him on the shoulder, before handing him a handful of cash from his inside coat pocket.

 

“Go get yourself a suit,” he said, “I daresay that horrible red Junkertown uniform is no longer necessary. Try and make it a bit more purple, you know? Something to match the Talon theme a little more.”  


“Y- yes, sir!” Jamison stammered, though this time looking promptly overjoyed instead of terrified, almost as if ready to kiss Ogudimu. He turned and limped back out of the club, with a grin so wide he looked like he was about to eat his own head. Mei felt so glad for him that she even forgot to make her presence known until the club doors shut behind him.

 

*

 

Lenny, George, Paul and Dick had spent many years robbing convenience stores when they were young teenagers, slowly building up the size of their operations until they were regularly hitting clubs, restaurants and much more public establishments. The place they’d just broke up this afternoon… _man_ , did it hold a sweet bit of money. Each one of them could hold a bank manager’s salary in their hands.

 

They’d decided to hole up in an abandoned flat until the man who’d hired them would arrive and split the money between them. Paul had persuaded (quote _threatened)_ the landlord to let them stay up there for a couple of days, upon which they’d head back home to Brooklyn to see Ma for Christmas. It was just way too cold to be hanging around New York.

 

“Hey Georgie, stop smellin’ that stuff and help me count, yeah?” Lenny asked, teasing the youngest one of them with his old childhood nickname. The lad immediately stopped his blank gawking and snapped to attention.

 

“Fine, sure” he replied, “how much we got so far, Len?”

 

“About ten thousand so far. Get those stacks and start from there. We’ll add ‘em up later.”

 

George nodded sullenly, ignoring the sniggers from the other two as he bent down to pick up the rest of the notes. It was then that he saw the door to their room slowly open and whipped his machine gun off the floor. The others scrabbled for their own and quickly followed suit, as it creaked open to reveal…

 

A tall, blonde-haired kid with a face that looked like he’d been drop kicked about twenty times standing before them.

 

“Who the hell are you?” George demanded. The lad didn’t look the least bit perturbed and even had the nerve to smile slightly.

 

“Jamison Fawkes, mate. Ya know, the guy who persuaded ya to undergo this little venture?” he replied, motioning to the money that had been dropped to the floor in the sudden panic.

 

All four of them made sighs of relief and dropped their guns.

 

“Ya scared us there for a second. Thought you’d be older, what with sounding so different over the phone.”

 

“Ah well, ain’t no issue with bein’ cautious,” Jamison said lightly, drawing up an upturned paint can with his foot and using it as a stool. Lenny noticed the way he dragged his foot behind him as he walked. “I gotta say, I saw it all on the news. You lot were _very_ convincin’. Almost had _me_ scared.”

 

The brother shared a laugh. “Bet that bar manager we iced thought we were convincing, right Dick?” Lenny chuckled, reaching over and clapping his sibling on the back. Dick just nodded and grinned, making a finger gun and pretending to fire it.

 

It was only then that Paul noticed a small package Jamison was carrying. “What’s that?”

 

The other three brothers turned to follow the direction of his outstretched finger.

 

“Oh, just some bottles of whisky. I thought that I should show ya some sort of appreciation, what with ya doin’ all this for me.”

 

The brothers greedily reached across as he opened the package up, each picking a bottle up.

 

“Cheers, lads!” Lenny proclaimed, starting to down his immediately. The rest, who had always spent years following every example that their eldest sibling had ever set, immediately did the same.

 

Jamison just continued to sit there, letting them do it. He didn’t really have any other use for this stuff, anyway.

 

*

 

“Hana,” the youth heard her partner say, causing her to raise her head suddenly from on top of her paperwork, “Captain Morrison has just sent me over to show you a piece of evidence that was recovered from the parking garage.”

 

“It’s a mobile phone,” the withered voice of the captain himself said from behind, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. For such a supposedly old guy, he sure could sneak up on people pretty well. No wonder how he loved to recount his days as a stealth operative in Vietnam to anyone who would listen. “Cheap and easy to incinerate or destroy once the deed is done. My guess is you put up more of a fight than he expected and he ended up dropping it as he tried to escape.”

 

He paused for a second, then he chuckled. A remarkably rare occurrence.

 

“Idiot” he surmised.

 

“So are there any numbers on his call history?” Hana asked, speaking to Orisa directly.

 

“Yes, but only two. The first one has been blocked. No longer exists, apparently. My guess is that it belongs to whoever hired him. Probably used the same type of phone as this too, except they actually managed to destroy theirs. The second one, the most recent, isn’t blocked, but there’s no caller ID either.”

 

“Can you ring it, maybe get the guy to answer?”

 

“We’re not amateurs, Song,” Morrison piped up again, “obviously we have, but there’s no reply. Again, our other caller probably got rid of their phone. What I need is for you two to go through the SIM card, maybe see if you can find any recordings of the call. Some networks record phone calls to monitor criminals and suspicious activity. Bit of a thin lead, but it’s our best shot.”

 

“Sitting lifelessly, trawling through the contents of a SIM card,” Hana said sarcastically, wishing she’d just stayed asleep, “my life is beyond glorious.”

 

*

 

Jamison stuffed the last wad of bills into his shoulder bag and surveyed his surroundings. He’d been forced to hang around in the dingy little attic for much longer than he wanted to – after all, if he’d wanted yet more views of filthy windows and walls, he would have just stayed at home – but unfortunately the cyanide in the bottles of alcohol had taken more than a few minutes to kick in.

 

Luckily, none of the unlucky recipients were trained in the art of poison detection, so besides a little _“This tastes kinda funny, are you sure it’s whisky?”_ from…what was his name? Paul?

 

Well, besides a small note of confusion, not a single man suspected anything until they each started foaming at the mouths and dropping down dead.

 

He’d need to order a stronger batch next time. He hadn’t been wrong. There really _wasn’t_ any other possible use for the stuff.

 

Should he move the bodies? Nah. Knowing this band of thugs, they probably would have either forced someone into giving up their property at gunpoint or would be squatting illegally. Either way, no-one would exactly be up here anytime soon.

 

About to exit the room, he turned around and allowed himself a satisfied smirk. Phase two going according to plan. Money gained, potential snitches disposed of, their faces pale and their veins blue.

 

Still smirking, he slowly closed the door behind him, plunging the four bodies into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an extraordinary amount of fun writing this chapter. Seeing Jamison slowly becoming the devious guy we know and love...just yes! As always, comments and feedback are wildly appreciated. 'Til next time!  
> (By the way, in case anyone was wondering: the song Mei sings is "Frederick" by Patti Smith.)


	8. It's War Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan. Mako does his job. Jamison sees an opportunity. It's just a real shame he was spending some real quality time with Mei when that aforementioned opportunity arose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick side note, one of the notes I left at the end of my first chapter keeps re-appearing in all my other ones. Does anyone know how to remove this? 
> 
> Regardless, happy reading!

Mako swiftly stepped aside to dodge the decanter that narrowly missed his head and smashed against the wall.

 

**_“HE’S WORKING FOR OGUDMI?!”_** his employer shrieked, sharp nails aloft, ready to viciously tear into something. He decided it would be best to just wait it out and let her simmer down for a few minutes. **_“OF ALL THE INCONSIDERATE…BONEHEADED…”_**

****

She let out an inhuman screech and threw another decanter. It bounced harmlessly off Mako’s stomach as she took several deep breaths and tried to compose herself as best she could with what little hair she had jutting out at insane angles.

 

“Anything else ya want to tell me, Mako?” she snapped.

 

“No ma’am, that’s it,” he responded simply, “he rang us up himself. Said he wanted to discuss the…uh… _change of managers_ with you this morning.”

 

“What time?”

 

“He said just about ten or so,” Mako replied again in that same flat, gravelly voice. “Also says Fawkes will be there, too.”

 

The Queen flexed her hands, clearly wanting someone to throttle with them. She was silent for a few seconds before the flexing ceased and she looked up to face him directly – a somewhat monumental task, seeing as how she had to crane her head all the way back to do so. Not exactly the best look for one of the main rulers of the underworld.

 

“I’ll go talk to the guy and ask for that little shit back. And then we’re gonna teach him a few more manners, understand?”

 

Mako’s head tilted slightly.

 

“Fawkes or Ogudimu?”

 

“Fawkes first. Ogudimu will learn in time. The war has just begun,” she began to smile toothily, “and you could now be looking at the new queen of New York.”

 

Mako nodded, deigning to answer. The grin remained for a few moments longer until she was all business again.

 

“Ogudimu has a gun delivery scheduled today, doesn’t he?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Stop it. Block the road, kill the drivers, whatever. I don’t care how ya bloody go about doin’ it, but one way or another, it doesn’t get to ‘im, understand?”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

“If we don’t get the kid back, the other bosses around town are gonna smell blood in the water. We’re gonna look weak. So whether he agrees or not, that scrawny little…” she opened and closed her mouth several times, obviously searching for the most suitable insult, “… _weasel_ is history.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

The atmosphere in the bar shifted somewhat. The Queen looked almost fond of him as she reached across and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

 

“God, am I glad I at least got _someone_ I can bloody trust.”

 

And without another word, she donned her fur coat and strode out of the club. Mako watched her go before shaking his head to himself. Honestly, she was a great boss and all, but sometimes she was nuttier than a sack of horny squirrels.

 

Now. To erase the horrible impending thought of a horny Queen and gather some of the other men. They had a rat to catch.

 

*

 

Doomfist sipped his glass of wine as the Queen prattled on about the kid. Despite how she was appearing to be angry on the outside, he tended to be very good at reading people. And in the Queen’s case (the darting eyes, the constantly rising chest and the rapid hand movements across the table they were seated at) she trying to mask some form of fear. Besides heavily enjoying every minute, seeing the woman panic served as a nice little reminder that any possible takeover she was planning would never truly work.

 

“…this is tradition, as I’m sure a bloke such as yourself would understand. Snitches get stitches, that’s how it’s always been.”

 

She paused and leaned forward in her chair, one arm trailing over the back.

 

“Ya need to hand him over, Akande.”

 

Doomfist chuckled lightly whilst turning briefly to face Reyes, who was sat at a table opposite, surveying them.

 

“I know I should. But what can I say? The little man amuses me somewhat. Honestly, you should have seen his face when I promoted him to bar manager – it would be somewhat unfair to dash that happiness so early, no?”

 

“Really? Ya wanna start a war over this punk?”

 

Doomfist frowned and raised a hand. This woman seemed to be going quite far for something so seemingly trivial. Perhaps Mister Fawkes was withholding more secrets that he’d retained for his own personal safety. Quite clever. Far from suspicious or angry, Doomfist even felt slightly _impressed_ with the youth.

 

“War? He’s that valuable to you, is he?”

 

The Queen quickly recomposed herself.

 

“Oh, no. Hell no. He’s just some lowly goon, someone I can easily replace. No, this is about _respect_.”

 

“Now, respect I can understand,” Doomfist replied, his smile threatening to unfurl. He motioned towards the staff-only door at the side of the stage, where Jamison stood watching. “Mister Fawkes! Come out here!”

 

Jamison limped out, his black eye only slightly healed. His nose still continued to bleed at random intervals, resulting in him simply sticking a wad of tissue up his right nostril despite the pain it caused whenever he put his finger up there and accidentally touched the broken bone. Not wanting to repeat the experience, he decided to stand as close to Doomfist’s side as possible.

 

“Hello, boy” the Queen said slowly, her quiet voice dripping with just as much untamed hatred as her shouting.

 

“Hello, _my Queen_.”

 

“Or should I call you Junkrat? I hear that’s the nice little name ya’ve got now.”

 

A snigger from Reyes told Jamison all he needed to know on how the Queen had worked out his insulting codename. Before he could force out a response, his employer came to his aid – a single raised hand silenced everyone in the room.

 

“Mister Fawkes, the Queen feels like she has been cheated out of an employee, as well as feeling incredibly angry and betrayed” Doomfist said to him, as the Queen continued to just glare impassively. “I want a sincere apology from you for making her feel such a way.”

 

Jamison nodded in apparent earnest and turned to look her directly in the eye.

 

“I’m very sorry, my Queen. I didn’t mean to offend ya in any way. Scout’s honour and all that.”

 

A muscle was twitching in the Queen’s draw. From the way Doomfist spoke to her like a teacher berating a disruptive six-year old, to the barely concealed grin Jamison was obviously trying his best to hide as he spoke to her, it was all incredibly patronising. An attempt to embarrass and belittle her.

 

And if there was one thing the Queen despised above all else, it was being patronised.

 

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, “it’s war, then.”

 

Doomfist rolled his eyes slightly. Jamison sincerely wished he had _his_ confidence.

 

“And as for you-“ he snapped to attention upon realising that the woman was addressing him “- you little, blonde-haired _bitch_ …”

 

She took a step closer towards him with every word, yet Doomfist made no real move to stop her.

 

“…torture is nowhere _near_ as good a word to describe what I’m gonna to do to you when this is all over.”

 

He decided it would be best to mould a mask of false bravery. Surely his boss would step in if things got _too_ out of hand.

 

“Well, I’m terribly sorry ya feel that way, Queenie.”

 

At roughly the same speed as lightning, the Queen dug her razor-sharp black nails into his cheeks and lifted him up slightly.

 

“Only my _friends_ call me Queenie.”

 

“What…friends?” Jamison managed to gasp.

 

The Queen raised the fist of her free hand back, her eyes full of nothing but menace, ready to strike a blow upon his already-purple eye, when-

 

“That’s enough.”

 

The two paused at the same time and turned to see Mei onstage, hands fidgeting by her sides, but her face showing nothing but determination. Even Doomfist looked mildly surprised.

 

“Well, well,” the Queen mused, her tone implying that the shorter woman was going to regret ever being born, “ya got a soft spot for ol’ Jamie here, huh? Cute.”

 

She stared the smaller woman down for a few seconds, obviously waiting for her determination to waver. Though it looked like it was struggling, it failed to dissolve completely.

 

“Maybe I’ll make ya watch some time in the future when I drag ‘im back to me club screamin’ and start cuttin’ ‘im up.”

 

Mei licked her lips, sweating under the studio lights.

 

Doomfist stood, the chair making a signature dragging sound to indicate that someone had taken a step too far.

 

“I invited you here to discuss a truce, my dear. Not to insult my staff. If we cannot negotiate a fair deal, then we shall have it your way. Violence it is. But just remember, this’ll result in nothing but bad business. Now, if you would please leave.”

 

The Queen raised her arms in mock surrender and backed towards the door, pausing for a few choice seconds to pick up a fork and toss it in Mei’s direction, causing the smaller woman to shriek and duck slightly as it embedded itself in the wall behind her. And with a final triumphant grin, she was finally out of the range of Jamison’s hateful glare.

 

*

 

Mako watched the rest of the guys pull out wine crates from the pack of the package van. Ogudimu’s guys weren’t exactly happy about getting stuck-up like this, but it wasn’t like they could really complain with twelve guns being pointed at them from behind a makeshift roadblock.

 

Everything had gone according to plan. Nice and simply. Just as Mako liked it.

 

Once the last few crates were being unloaded (the jingling of bullets and clips giving away their true contents), Mako decided it was high time to address the two disgruntled drivers, straightening his ill-fitting tie as he did so. He absolutely hated the damn thing, but so long as he was getting paid millions each month by none other than the Queen, she could order him to wear a tutu for all he cared. Besides, anyone who laughed was going to very quickly regret doing so, one way or another.

“Listen,” he grumbled, bandana still over his mouth, “tell your boss we ain’t lettin’ any of his imports through. Not until he gives up Junkrat. So listen, we gotta hurt ya a little. What do ya want, a beatin’ or a bullet?”

 

One of the drivers looked flabbergasted, nearly disgusted.

 

“Why we gotta get hurt?” he whined.

 

“Because this is a serious issue.” Mako replied simply, trying his best to be patient despite the guy’s overly-high pitched tone. “The Queen feels like she’s been disrespected, so a pretty big load’s at stake ‘ere.”

 

“Well then just tell Ogudimu it’s serious, no problem!”

 

“Oh, forget it,” Mako decided out loud, drawing a sawn-off shotgun from underneath his oversized trench coat and shooting the man in the leg. The guy screamed as his leg came apart and the second driver barely had time to react before his own leg suffered the same treatment.

 

Mako shook his head slightly in exasperation as he left the two squirming on the tarmac and walked back to his own van, where the rest of the guys were waiting. Honestly, sometimes it was just rude to refuse some things.

 

*

 

Jamison sat there, watching intently from one of the auditorium’s tables in a pristine purple suit with gold lining. He particularly liked the little purple handkerchief sticking from his breast pocket. It was all real fancy.

 

It almost him regret the fact that he would have to kill the man who gave the money to purchase such an outfit later.

 

Mei had just finished her rehearsal that afternoon, in which he had barely noticed time passing as he stood there in awe, listening to her voice. Normally, he’d be too busy fearing for his life to pay much attention to other goings-on in the club, but by now he’d really gotten used to his new working environment. And besides, she sung like a goddamn angel.

 

Her dress had been pristine, her notes crystal clear. It honestly made him wonder why she had been so apprehensive about such a job when they’d first met.

 

A collective muttering from the bar in the corner met his ears, coming from the direction of the bar. He dragged his eyes away from the now-empty stage to see the three bar staff under his control in somewhat of a hushed argument. Straightening his jacket to practice his assertion, he limped over, ignoring how stupid it probably made him look. The barman closest to him turned and they all stopped whispering instantly as he approached.

 

“What’s the problem, guys?” Jamison asked, trying not to let his accent creep in too much.

 

“Mr Rat – I mean, Mr Junkrat, I mean –“ the barman stuttered, until Jamison silenced him with a raised hand, just as he had seen Ogudimu do. Miraculously, it worked.

 

“Never mind that,” he said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t ready to make the whole club aware of his real name yet, but that demoralising alias of his still made him feel like the lowest of the low. “What’s the issue? And don’t lie, I’ve seen ya all huddlin’ together like a herd ‘a bloody meerkats.”

 

Not the best simile, but it seemed enough to stir the barman into speaking up again.

 

“We’re almost out of booze.”

 

Jamison blinked slightly, before pointing to the multicoloured bottles behind the counter, all lit up by neon lights.

 

“Uh, _hello_!” he uttered incredulously, “behind ya, ya drongo! There’s a whole bloody _wall_ ‘a the damn stuff!”

 

“Coloured water sir, always has been.”

 

Jamison took time to relish the _sir_ part before answering.

 

“Just serve what ya can over lunch. I’ll try and order more.”

 

“See, there’s just a _poco problema, mi hombre rato_ ,” came a falsely cheery voice from behind, causing him to nearly fall over as he spun around on his undamaged heel. “I’m afraid you really _can’t_ order any more of your precious alcohol.”

 

The Mexican girl who Jamison had seen very rarely was sat on a stool at the other end of the bar, cradling a whiskey glass in one hand and taking a sip. It was most likely the first time Jamison had ever seen her away from her phone.

 

“The booze in this city is all controlled by the Queen. And she’s a little grumpy with you these days, no?”

 

Jamison swallowed thickly. Going to the woman and asking for her to continue delivering alcohol to the club would be no better than begging her on bended knee. Something he’d done plenty of times back when he slaved for her. He bristled at the thought.

 

“That’s a loada crap. There’s a million places to buy booze.”

 

The girl shrugged lightly.

 

“Well, do as you wish _mi amigo rato._ But either way, I highly doubt Mister Ogudimu will be too happy if you fail on your first week, _hmm_? You know what they say; the bigger they are, the harder they fall. And good ol’ Doom-y will make sure you fall _hard_.”

 

Without another word, she tipped him an enormous wink and drained the last of her glass before leaving through the door at the side of the stage. Jamison had only just turned back around to address the issue before a hesitant cough from behind. Just as he swivelled back in the same fashion to shout at them to go away, he realised it was Mei. And her dress was just as fantastic up close.

 

The half-shout died in his throat and he ended up uttering a choking noise as his eyes grew to the size of dustbin lids.

 

“Oh…’ello there, Mei. You need somethin’?”

 

“I just came over to talk during my break. I hope you’re not too busy, are you? I can always come back later, I suppose.”

 

Jamison ran his hand backwards through his hair in a futile attempt to get it to remain straight.

 

“Nah, you’re good. Well, I’m good too, I suppose. One ‘a the perks of the job, I guess, not havin’ to work as hard.”

 

Mei’s smile flattened slightly as she sat down on a stool next to him and motioned for him to do to the same. An invitation, not a request. He did so without hesitation, trying not to appear too eager as she leaned in slightly.

 

“I saw you talking to Sombra. Whatever she’s offering you, just ignore it, Jamison. Trust me.”  


Jamison sullenly repressed the feeling of euphoria that came from him saying his name as he forced himself to understand why.

 

“Who, the Mexican girl?”

 

“Exactly. She’s the person who blackmailed me into robbing your nightclub and as you know, it all resulted in, well…”

 

She waved her hand slightly in the direction of his bum leg rather than the wounds on his face. While it looked slightly dismissive, it was obvious that she didn’t want to appear as if she was drawing extreme amounts of attention towards them out of sheer politeness.

 

“But I’m glad you’ve gotten something out of all this” she added simply, the smile returning once again as she put her hand on top of his. He flinched slightly at the movement and she quickly withdrew before he could rectify this mistake.

 

“Oh – sorry Jamison, I didn’t mean to startle-“

 

“No, no, it’s good. I just…ain’t used to this sort of thing, ya know?”

 

“Oh…well…”

 

“Nah, I mean…keep doin’ it, if, ya know, if ya want…”

 

She smiled a little more softly this time and placed her hand back on top of his and he practically melted inside. The silence of the bar overtook him and he slowly felt himself beginning to smile too. Not anywhere as devious as in the past, but in a way that was warm and genuine.

 

It was, of course, a moment too good to last, as the doors to the club flung open and Ogudimu stormed in, Reyes almost running to keep up with his large strides. The first thing he noticed about the dark-skinned man was that he was breathing in and out of his nose like an angry bull, meaning someone was in for the high jump pretty soon.

 

“How did they find out about the gun truck?” he raged. Jamison had never heard the man raise his voice like this before. The whole club seemed to empty out as he spoke, Mei included, as she lifted her hand and nodded to Jamison before heading back to the dressing room. He forlornly looked at his once again empty hand before limping over to see if he could be any use.

 

Ogudimu slammed his fist down on a nearby table, causing it to quiver and emit a muffled cracking sound. “That’s three million dollars a week, gone! Your men have failed, Reyes!”

 

Reyes ground his teeth from behind his beard. “Well maybe they’re hijacking the deliveries to avoid all-out war on the streets,” he suggested, “It’s obvious that the only reason we’ve got these problems is because of this guy right here.”

 

He pointed directly at Jamison as both heads turned in his direction. The Mexican girl was now standing behind Ogudimu’s shoulder, smirking slightly as if she couldn’t wait to see how he’d end up getting fucked over this time.

 

“Well, I mean…it’s obvious they’re just waitin’ for ya to hand me over, I guess…” he murmured slightly, not wanting to give them any ideas. He eventually decided it was best to steer the conversation out of such dangerous waters. “Why the hell do they want me so badly, anyway?”

 

“ _Why?”_ Ogudimu replied as if it were obvious – which, to be honest, it was. He just wanted to divert their attention to something else. “Because you know everything about the Queen, my boy. More than any of the rest of us here do. Maybe even more than you’re letting on. After all, no-one, as I said earlier, would start a gang war over some random criminal – it’s just bad for business.”

 

The grinding of Reyes’ teeth was almost audible now.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” he said with the air of a man using up every last second of his patience, “so he’s valuable and we can’t just hand him over. Well then, let’s offer an exchange. We keep the little rat and give them money to back off.”

 

Jamison fought a smile that threatened to unfurl as Ogudimu turned to look at his security manager as if he’d just said he wanted to place his face in the rear end of a horse.

 

“If we offer an exchange Reyes, then we look weak. We don’t open negotiations until we start winning, or all the other mob bosses, including the Queen herself, will try and take us over. And I don’t know about you, but I prefer staying at the top, thank you very much.”

 

Reyes looked slightly shamefaced. Jamison promise himself a chuckle once it was all over.

 

“They think we’re going to fold? Well, we’re going to push back. And we’re going to do so in a way that’ll make that woman instantly regret ever making such a foolish decision.”

 

Opportunity was in the air, and was ultimately much more important than hesitancy. Before Reyes could reply, Jamison spoke up.

 

“If that’s the way you want it to be played sir, then I got a good idea,” he said out loud, surprised by his confidence, “Just gimme some of your men and I’ll be able to show you one of the Queen’s nearby money warehouses. Trust me – we blow that shit up, she ain’t never recoverin’.”

 

The uncomfortable silence hung in the air for just a few seconds longer. Just as he began to wonder whether he’d crossed an invisible line, Doomfist simply nodded his acceptance. He looked at Reyes and pointed at Jamison.

“Keep the guy safe, you understand? He seems to be the only one around here who has any good plans at the moment. Maybe he can give you a few lessons on the way there.”

 

Without another word, he stalked off backstage with a clap on Jamisons’ back as a farewell.

 

He’d just been given power. More of it.

 

_Fuck it_ , he decided, _it’s not like that security twat can kill in here anymore,_ and let the Cheshire cat grin expose itself in all its glory.

 

And while Reyes would never admit it, it chilled him right down the bone like a frozen blade.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me how I did. Was the moment between Jamison and Mei good? Am I writing Doomfist well? Am I writing the Queen well? I quite liked writing the short segment with Mako, but still...did you enjoy it? 
> 
> And what, pray tell, do you think Jamisons' planning? Hmmm... :)
> 
> Many thanks as always for reading through my work, I love all the comments and feedback. Until next time!


	9. Operation Cashgrab and Stab-Stab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a daft chapter title, I know. But then again, Jamison has always been one for good old-fashioned revenge, so why not? Might as well make it rhyme.

****

“So then, would you believe it, the police shut me down! Took away my license! And so I am left with the unfortunate lack of tools with which to carry out your operation with minimal risk.”

 

Doctor Moira O’Deorain straightened her spectacles and briskly brushed a loose strand of ginger hair from her face. The sweating man tied to the operating table just began to sweat more profusely as she dug into the metal container on the trolley beside her and pulled out a pair of tweezers.

 

“Now, where did you say the bullet was?”

 

“The – the leg _.”_

_“The leg. The leg_ can refer to either one of two limbs, both of which make up around a third of your total height. At least _attempt_ to be more specific.”

 

“Thigh. Right leg. The Queen wants it removed as she wants all available helpers ready for war” the guy swallowed thickly, weakly pulling against the restraints in some futile hope that they wouldn’t hold.

 

After having lost her medical license for what the institute referred to as “cruel and inhumane practices”, Moira had at first turned her nose up at the thought of becoming a black-market doctor. One of the main focuses of her original research had been aimed towards ridding the population of such simple-minded brutes and now she was expected to _heal_ them?

 

But in circumstances such as this, when a mob boss pays you a million dollars just for pulling a bullet from some cronies’ leg, you might as well get it over with and get a lot richer in the process. This simple thought kept her sane as she eventually found what she was also looking for: a blood-ridden bone saw, mostly used for amputations. Maybe if the water supply around the area wasn’t so contaminated, she might have even have gathered the inclination to clean it every now and then.

 

“Now then” she said, fighting the urge to smile at the man’s new, panic-stricken expression, “this bone saw will be used to amputate your leg if you speak more than necessary, or annoy me with your snivelling, understand?”

 

“But-“

 

Moira edged the blade a bit closer towards his ankle.

 

“Got it, got it!” he responded hastily. She smiled lazily in reply.

 

“Good to know, my dear” she replied, putting it back down in plain view of the operating table and instead pulling out the tweezers. “Now…let’s begin, shall we?”

 

The man just nodded, sweat pouring from every inch of his face as she closed in. with the right expressions, she could make even the most harmless of tools look like weapons the Geneva Convention forgot to ban.

 

She placed the silver objects around the bullet, the very last inch of it poking out slightly as the guy grit his teeth.

 

“Oh and by the way” she decided to add – this part was always the most enjoyable part – “I don’t have any morphine to give you, so this may be little painful.”

 

“ _What?!”_

 

She began to twist as he started crying out.

 

_“No, no, no, wait!”_

_“Too late, dear!”_ she shouted over him with a demon smile, “ _It was your choice to choose me as a doctor!”_

Just as the guy looked ready to start thrashing at his restraints, a gunshot ceased the makeshift wrestling match immediately. Moira turned, feeling more annoyed then scared, to see two police officers standing in the doorway, only the bottom halves of their bodies illuminated by her operating lamp. One of them she recognised.

 

“Ah, Officer Orisa,” she cooed, letting go of the tweezers as the guy’s breathing returned to its normal rate in relief, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“Me and my partner here have been going around the backstreets, checking up with all our black market surgeons,” Orisa said in a deadpan voice, her face not giving anything away, “and we are sure that at least some of you will have been tending to men belonging to either the Queen or Doomfist, correct?”

 

Moira nodded curtly, “Of course. They may say it’s bad for business, but me? I’d say it’s a financial breakthrough. Finally, a chance to make _real_ progress in my own science.”

 

Behind Orisa, Hana tried not to appear too revolted at the amount of blood everywhere, promptly deciding that she didn’t really want to know what the woman’s personal projects entailed. Either way, the leg wound on that guy who was tied to the table looked pretty bad.

 

“Is your patient meant to be awake for a procedure like this, doc?” she asked in a falsely nonchalant manner, sincerely hoping the answer would be yes.

 

The ginger woman let out a short laugh with no humour in it whatsoever. “Oh no, my dear. You see, I’m just out of morphine and this man’s…shall we say, employer…”

 

“Criminals.”

 

“…as you may wish to call them – are paying me quite a lot to get this over with quickly, so… I work with what I have. It really is a bit of a shame though, I must admit, seeing as how none of my patients are under the command of the two feuding crime bosses at the minute. The salary would be even _grander_.”

 

She gazed into the middle distance beyond Hana’s head, evidently lost in grisly fantasies. A slight cough from the guy behind her brought her back down to earth.

 

“Whaddya talking about? I _do_ work for one of the crime bo-“

 

Realizing that her lie was about to be broken by the idiot, she snatched up the entire tool box from the trolley and smashed the man right in the face with it. His head lolled back, unconscious, as his nose began to bleed.

 

She turned back to the duo as if nothing had happened, ignoring their disgusted and suspicious looks.

 

“Actually, on second thoughts, I _can_ quite easily put him to sleep. Silly me.”

 

“You would tell us though, wouldn’t you?” Hana piped up again, slowly stepping in front of Orisa – however, her supposedly senior officer made no attempt to retake control. Moira’s lips pursed. It was like being dictated to by an obnoxious child. “That’s what my mentor here told me, anyway. It’s a deal, isn’t it? You tell us what we want to know and we let you keep operating?”

 

Orisa moved over to the trolley as the young girl walked closer towards Moira, a goofy smile on her face and the sarcasm thoroughly evident in her voice.

 

“It’s a pun. Get it? _Operating_.”

 

“Yes, yes, how exceedingly droll,” Moira replied shortly, turning back to the unconscious man and hoping the air of business she gave off would be enough to persuade them to leave. “Now if you’ll excuse me-“

 

The young annoying one stepped back a tad, but she forgot to account for her friend – not to mention the items she was currently searching through on one of the trolley’s shelves.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind, those are the property of my patient –“

 

She was cut short when Orisa raised a single eyebrow and held up a small business card, labelled with the words _“The Junkertown Club – Member of Staff.”_

 

Hana pretended to shake her head in betrayed disbelief. “Oh, doc…”

 

Moira was an exceedingly intelligent woman, who was also clever enough to know when she was beaten. That never made it any less humiliating, though.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” she huffed, her nostrils flaring, “maybe I’ve had one or two. One guy that visited yesterday rambled on about having to defend the Queen’s funds at the docks after I doused him in whisky to calm him down.”

 

“Did he give anything more specific?” asked Orisa, jotting her words down on a pad. “Any addresses, names?”

 

“No, because then I had to start amputating his left arm. All he really did after that was scream and pass out.”

 

Orisa sighed and closed the pad with a single flip of her hand. “Thank you, Doctor. You’ve been a great help.”

 

“If so, then why do you look so unhappy? Forgive me for my assumptions, but I always guessed that the police are often pleased to obtain new information.”

 

“Oh no, it’s not about that,” Orisa murmured, a smile starting to dawn on her face, “it’s just I think I’m about to lose my best informant.”

 

It was only then that Moira noticed that the smaller girl had moved somewhere else while she was busy talking. Scolding herself for not being able to keep track of someone so irritatingly loud, she didn’t notice the clink of handcuffs until her hands were violently grabbed and forced into them behind her back.

 

“Wait, what are you- “she glared at the little gremlin smirking triumphantly at her as she tightened the cuffs. She turned back to whom she now dearly hoped was her senior officer. “Orisa, what in the devil is your partner doing? We made a deal!”

 

“ _She_ did.” Hana spoke up, beginning to walk her towards the exit of the back alley, “but _I_ didn’t. Also, I think you pretty much dissolved our trust after that little lie of yours, yeah?”

 

Moira just snarled at her in response as Orisa shrugged, still smiling.

 

“I take back what I said about your gormless smiling, Officer. Wipe it off your face now before I stitch your lips together.”

 

“Threatening a police officer?” Hana asked extra sweetly, twisting Moira’s arm and causing her to hiss. “That won’t look too good for you when you end up on trial.”

 

Moira sealed her mouth and made mental obscenities in the brat’s direction.

 

“Oh and by the way, Orisa” Hana added, “you’re going to have to carry the unconscious fella out of here.”

 

She led Moira off to their car, giggling to herself as she heard Orisa moan in irritation behind her.

****

*

****

The Northern docks were situated by the river, rusted and abandoned – in other words, they were the perfect hideaway for the Queen’s money. All stacked in giant green pillars and wrapped in the thinnest layers of plastic covering, any official or police officer that came within a mile radius of it would either be paid off or shot on sight. The Queen often believed variety to be the spice of life, meaning that on random days she would ring up the men guarding it and tell them what the policy was.

 

On this particular day, it was shoot to kill. And Dogbreath, one of her lieutenants, felt pretty good after sniping three dock officials in a row and decided to settle into a game of cards with the rest of his men. The three bodies outside ought to provide enough of a deterrent to prevent anyone else nosing around.

 

So far, the game had been going well: he’d managed to win about fifteen rounds of poker in a row, although the extra chips and cards hidden up his sleeve had provided quite an advantage. None of his opponents were exactly good at hiding their expressions of excitement or disappointment either, so it was quite easy to call them out.

 

“ _Royal flush!”_ he bellowed gratuitously, slamming his cards down to the accompanying groans of the other men. Three rolled their eyes, another looked ready to punch something. The fifth underling groaned slightly and clapped in both appreciation and exasperation.

 

“Nice one,” he said simply, reshuffling the deck with one eye on which cards he wanted in his. He was _bound_ to win this next round and wipe the smile off of his bosses’ face.

 

He might have too, if the doors to the warehouse weren’t blown off their hinges in an almighty explosion at that exact moment as four guys he’d never seen before came storming in with machine guns.

 

Dogbreath was the first to leap up, drawing his pistol before the rest of his cronies could even register what had just happened, though it was a futile effort. Four separate rounds of bullets slammed into him, causing his chest to erupt in a bloody spray as he toppled backwards over his chair in the deafening ruckus. It took this much for the rest of the Queen’s men to even stand up after the sudden shock, though they were easily dispatched. The two on the left of the table were the first to go, fumbling madly for their weapons before they were mowed down, innards coating the stacks of cash behind them. The two on the right managed to fire a couple of shots, but none hit their target and they each collapsed as they were penetrated by the seemingly endless rounds.

 

It took a few more seconds of firing for the gunmen to finally stop, just for good measure. As the cards that had been knocked into the air during the chaos slowly floated back down to the ground and the loose casino chips stopped rolling away from the smashed-up table and into the blood of their owners, Reyes removed his mask and smiled. He was always particularly fond of that mask – bone white, with the design of an owl’s skull. After all, he wasn’t nicknamed the “New York Reaper” for nothing.

 

Most of the time he was tasked with killing rivals silently, but he had to admit that sometimes…this was just a lot more _fun_.

 

He heard the echoing sound of an uneven stride coming up behind him, though his smile just grew. And now what was once fun was now about to become an absolute _blast_.

 

He motioned to the other three of Ogudimu’s lieutenants to start moving the pallets of money into the lorry they’d parked a few metres down the road – he’d even parked it on top of the dead bodies for good measure. They obviously hadn’t been much use as law enforcement officers, but they did make pretty good speed bumps.

 

“Told ya!” came an unnecessarily smug and chipper voice. Jamison had finally gotten close enough behind him; giving that usual shit-eating smile that Reyes wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in. “Easy as pie! Nearly all ‘a the Queen’s funds, in the hands of her dearest enemy!”

 

The snot-nosed toreag tilted his head upwards and whistled in admiration. Reyes had never noticed just how large the warehouse really was, so long as the doors were unable to withstand a direct blast from a mound of plastic explosive. But with the pillars of green piling up every wall, it almost gave the impression that there was no roof, but rather that the stacks just opened up to the heavens.

 

But he could gaze in admiration later. He had a job of his own to do.

 

“There’s gotta be at least a good three million in ‘ere.”

 

It was possibly the first time Reyes had agreed with the kid. It would also be the last.

 

“Yeah, you told us alright,” he said gruffly, trying his best not to sound too excited, “you knew exactly where to hit them.”

 

He threw his machine gun over to one of the lieutenants, who caught it with their free hand, before starting to sarcastically clap. The sound echoed off every metal surface.

 

“You’re clever. Real clever.”

 

The youth’s face slowly contorted to resemble the rat he so obviously was.

 

“Somehow I’m getting’ the feelin’ that you ain’tbein’ serious.”

 

“Oh, really?” was all Reyes responded with, before punching the boy in the chest with all his might. The kid bent over gasping, using his unbroken arm to steady himself. “You’re damn right I ain’t being serious.”

 

The lieutenants were no longer focused on moving the bodies or picking up the cash, but rather turned to watch the show.

 

“You’re not a bar manager. You’re not even a real criminal. You’re just an ugly, snot-nosed _snitch_ who’s somehow got Doomfist all twisted.”

 

To his utter fury, the guy started to laugh. _Laugh!_ Did he have no sense of self-preservation at all?

 

“Ya know, I guess it’s good that we’re clearin’ the air at last!”

 

In a second of blind fury, Reyes grabbed Jamison by the collar and pulled him close. So close, that his moustache hair was almost touching his face.

 

“Yeah, carry on, _Junkrat_. Because all I’ve gotta do is put a bullet in your brain right here,” he motioned with a finger-gun to the boy’s temple, “ _bang._ Then I go back and I tell Doomfist, and do you know what he’ll say? All he’ll say is _well, that’s just too bad,_ and that’ll be it. _End of story_.”

 

He shoved the blonde youth back again, who rubbed at his throat slightly as he steadied himself.

 

“And maybe I oughta put one in that singer’s head too. She’s too nosy to be kept around, either way.”

 

Jamison didn’t responded to that, but rather pursed his lips slightly and smiled in a way that was much more tight and forced. Reyes was glad to see he was managing to get to him.

 

“Yeah, I guess that’s pretty clever an’ all,” he admitted with a stage shrug, “but I never suspected that you weren’t intelligent, Mister Reyes. That ain’t your problem.”

 

Reyes pretended to look shocked. If the little guy wanted a theatrical, then he was happy to indulge in one for his last few moments on earth.

 

“Oh, I got a problem?” he said, looking to the lieutenants in a voice of feigned terror, before straightening his face again and returning to the familiar growl. “No. _You’ve_ got the problems.”

 

The kid clenched his fists.

 

“Alright then, I’ll bite,” Reyes decided, pleased with this reaction, “what _is_ my problem, Junkrat?”

 

“Your problem’s pride. Ever since ya became head of security, you ain’tnever let anyone wound ya pride. And with that pride comes self-respect – which, if it gets outta hand, can result in real bad self-centredness.”

 

Reyes continued to smirk, putting on a show of rolling his eyes.

 

“You believe this guy?” he asked sarcastically, receiving only a slight gesture of uncertainty from one of the lieutenants. But Jamison wasn’t finished.

 

“Ya think that ya so _powerful and mighty_ , Mister Reyes, all ya troops and underlings respect ya. Ya too proud, too…” he waved his hands wildly before spitting out the last of the sentence. “Ya just… _delusional_!”

 

Reyes would have yet again responded with a dry quip before putting the scummy little shit out of his misery, but his train of thought was suddenly interrupted when two sets of hands grabbed either one of his arms. He turned in surprise to see two of the lieutenants holding them back, the third still standing where he left him, with both machine guns and a disinterested look on his face.

 

“The hell are you guys playing at?” he snapped, “Let go of me, you idiots!”

 

“Sorry, Gabe,” was all the lieutenant on the right hand side said, making a sort of _that’s-how-it-is_ face. Now it was Jamison’s turn to start smiling again.

 

“As I said,” he grinned maliciously, bringing Reyes’ stunned attention back to him, “delusional! And as a result of that, ya never once considered listening to ya people when they wanted a pay rise!” He slowly slid his undamaged hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a butterfly knife. Reyes began struggling fruitlessly against the two men restraining him while shouting out in panic.

 

“You – you guys don’t wanna do this!”

 

“It’s a proper sad fact, ya know,” Jamison continued to say, in a louder tone to block out Reyes’ yells, “that some criminals just ain’t cut out for the big jobs.”

 

And without another word, he plunged the knife straight into the centre of Reyes’ chest, causing him to cry out in agony.

 

“The promise of a nice little increase in personal salary was all it damn well took to sway these fine gents!” he sniggered, trying to contain the rush of happiness he’d felt after stabbing the security manager. He drew the knife back out before stabbing him again, this time closer to the heart. “So ya see? _That’s_ ya damn problem!”

 

Blood was flowing thickly and freely down Reyes’ body armour. Jamison motioned for the two burly lieutenants to let go, who complied and let the barely-animate body drop to the ground. He let the smile stay for a short while as the only sound in the warehouse for a few seconds was the man’s shallow breathing. Jamison bent down to face him directly and spoke directly into his ear.

 

“But don’t worry. I’ll take real good care ‘a Doomfist for ya.”

 

It almost looked like Reyes was about to try and say something, but as his lips parted for the final time, all the came out was his last breath. All was silent as Jamison stood back up and straightened his bow tie, before turning back around to face the other men. _His_ men. The guy with the guns still hadn’t moved, though he looked considerably paler.

 

“Grab as much cash as ya can carry. Burn the rest.”

 

The men faltered suddenly, eyes wide.

 

“What, boss?” one dared inquire.

 

“I said, _burn it_. We got more money than we need, and it’ll hurt the bitch more if it goes up in flames.”

 

He limped over to a nearby gas canister that he’d carried from the truck and dumped on the warehouse floor, before unscrewing the nozzle and tossing it all over the skyscrapers of green.

 

“Better get movin’.”

 

Clearly they all wanted to shout out in protest, but easily thought better of it and went back to stuffing as much as they could into their pockets as their annual bonus. All the while Jamison made sure to coat every base of every tower, as well as the bodies of the Queen’s men and Reyes. He had no need for any more cash than he already had, as the funds he’d already had stolen from Doomfist’s club was more than enough.

 

Deja vu struck him as he remembered leaving a similar four bodies behind in a flat, which felt like eternity ago. An eternity before Mei…well, went and touched his hand like that, he supposed.

 

He mentally slapped himself and forced himself to focus on what he was doing. He was a mob leader now, not some giddy schoolboy chasing a bit of skirt! Better start acting like it!

 

Drawing a lighter from his breast pocket and flicking it on, he threw it onto the nearest pile. It immediately ignited into a flaming pillar, causing the other men to jump away from the rest of the money as it spread and take it as a sign that it was time to leave. The five of them walked (or, in Jamison’s case, triumphantly limped) out of the warehouse like they had all the time in the world, making their way to the truck as it went up in smoke behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moira literally become more and more enjoyable for me to write with each new sentence. I daresay I'll be keeping her. Not to mention that Reyes is now gone...seemingly. What did you think of this chapter? As always, comments are my lifeblood and I'd love to hear what you think of Moira, Orisa and Hana in particular - not to mention what you think Jamison will do next, as comments are quite literally my life essence now.


	10. No License Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira joins the "fun" and Mako wants out. Of course, neither is destined to end with good consequences.

It took Jamison a while to notice that he was whistling happily as his henchmen loaded the money onto the van and drove off to wherever they called a home. A good boss always gave their employees respect, a basic memo that both Reyes and the Queen seemed to have missed. And if he, Jamison, wanted their loyalty, he’d have to treat them for a job well done.

 

Still. _Whistling._ He _must_ be in a good mood. He had no idea how stabbing Reyes made him so happy, as there were still a good number of people left to murder before he even got a _lick_ of _real_ power.

 

Despite having spent all the money he’d collected from those three dead idiots by paying off Reyes’ men, he’d managed burn down the Queen’s funds, let his new lackeys pocket whatever they wanted and still managed to make back more than he’d taken.

 

He stopped in his stride (or a way of moving that he hoped at least _looked_ impressive) out of the docks when he noticed a small group of muscular men loading up a batch of crates into a van, all of which were filled with bottles. A van with the words “Ogudimu Imports” printed across the side.

 

Another opportunity. Jamison tried not to look too overjoyed as he changed direction and started limping over to them. Someone, somewhere up above was smiling down upon him for once.

 

“Gents,” he greeted jovially, his own happy tone surprising him. The men turned, raising their eyebrows. They were all bearded and aged, their faces bearing the marks of manual labour day in and day out.

 

“Yeah?” one asked, not even bothering to return the smile. So they were those kinds of people.

 

“My name’s Jamison Fawkes. I’m Mister Ogudimu’s right-‘and man.”

 

This of course was a complete lie. But now that Reyes’ corpse was cooking nicely in the burning warehouse a few blocks back, who else really was there?

 

“So?” another asked, his life apparently too busy for full sentences.

 

“The taxes for ya alcohol imports are gonna be raised,” he replied, noticing them hitching their breath slightly, “by fifty percent.”

 

“ _Fifty?”_ the man who Jamison now guessed to be the leader of the group snapped, “How in the bloody hell are we meant to pay for that?”

 

Jamison just shrugged; internally enjoying every minute of protection Doomfist’s name gave him. If he was just some common thug, he had no doubt that they would beat him here and now.

 

“Business is business, you fellas know how it is,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging. “We’re out of alcohol at the bar and need more unless we want the Junkertown Club takin’ us over.”

 

The leader opened his mouth in what was most likely another angry reply, but was beaten to the chase. A police siren wailed behind Jamison and it took all the self-restrain he had in him not to jump thirty feet in shock. The car had been completely silent. Or maybe in his happiness he’d failed to notice it approach.

 

One sour-faced man with a diagonal scar across his mouth got out, pulling off his gun and holster before dumping it in the front seat as he did so, before striding towards them menacingly.

 

“Hello officer, how can I be of assi-“Jamison managed before the guy clocked him directly across the face with astounding speed. He crumpled to the ground instantly, as the delivery men raised their hands and backed away in surrender in case any more beatings were about to go down.

 

*

 

Hana had to admit: this had to be one of the loudest people she’d ever arrested in her life.

 

She’d had to lock up quite a few rowdy folk in her few years on the force, mind: drunkards and brutes looking for fights who would shout some pretty disgusting things at her from the backseat of the car, but they usually fell silent in the end as either common sense finally settled in or they eventually fell asleep.

 

Moira, however, had griped and grumbled non-stop the entire ride over and continued even as she and Orisa entered the NYPD bullpen and threw her into the main holding cell, which was in full view of everyone’s desks.

 

A few eyebrows were raised in her direction, but most of the officers went back to work a few seconds later, filing out their reports and fetching snacks from the vending machine. Hana rubbed her hands together, smiling up at her partner as she went to lock the cell door.

 

“Well, we’ve managed to get another illegal doctor off the streets,” she smiled, “I think that’s a cause for celebration. Wanna go down to Burger King and get lunch?”

 

Orisa looked just about to say something as a shout from behind them caused the two, as well as the majority of the bullpen, to turn in the direction of the main entrance.

 

_“Hold that door open for a second, Officer Song!”_

 

Commander Morrison entered the room, half-dragging a limp man behind him by the scruff of the neck as he went. It wasn’t until the male was tossed in alongside a very unimpressed-looking Moira that Hana vaguely recognised him as the young bartender she’d seen a couple of weeks ago.

 

“Caught this one down by the docks after I got a call in about a fire,” he shouted to the entirety of the officers, “and it looks to me like a gang war has started. _This_ impudent little brat-“ a finger shot in the direction of the young man, who was too busy nursing a bleeding nose to notice, “- will be the first to realise that we’re no longer tolerating crooks in this town. He’ll be going away for a long time once we’ve charged him.”

 

He didn’t speak for a few more seconds, embracing the attentive silence.

 

“You all have your duties. If I see or hear about any of my officers taking a bribe, accepting criminal behaviour, or doing anything to support these people, then I will remove your badge and gun and have you out of those front doors before you can say _“why”_ ”.

 

Hana briefly wondered whether she ought to be standing too close to her superior officer when he was in the middle of such an obviously-imperative speech. But he just nodded, and with a simple “Alright, back to work” he moved off to his office and the hustle and bustle of the room returned fairly quickly.

 

“So,” Hana said, reapplying the smile and turning back to her partner, “lunch?”

 

Orisa hesitated for a split second too long before she smiled in return. “Yes. Yes, of course, Hana. I’ll just get my coat.”

 

Hana didn’t let her suspicion show until Orisa turned her back and started to walk to their shared desk. Maybe she had something she wanted to tell her when they weren’t in such an enclosed environment.

 

_“Psst.”_

Hana frowned. Had her brain just sprung a leak?

 

_“Psst! Officer Song!”_

Realising that the hissing was emanating from behind her, she spun around to see the young man with his face pressed against the bars and his eyes wide in panic.

 

“Yes, Mister…?”

 

“Fawkes.”

 

“Right. Fawkes. You see, I didn’t know what to call you since I’ve only ever heard you be referred to as _boy_.”

 

On the other side of the holding cell, Jamison ground his teeth. So the girl wanted to play it like _that_ , did she?

 

“Yeah, exactly. _Boy_. Name says it all, doesn’t it? I ain’t exactly high on the, ya know, the peckin’ order. This all a massive mistake, see. I was framed since the Queen ain’t too happy with me and right now and needed to someone to suffer for her recent failures in this whole war that’s goin’ on.”

 

 _War over me_ , he thought smugly, but decided not to state such a fact for obvious reasons.

 

“Uh-huh. And I should care why, exactly?”

 

“Cos if any of the Queen’s men get arrested and thrown in ‘ere with me, I’ll be beaten within an inch of me life. C’mon, ya gotta lemme out.”

 

“Yeah, I _should_ …” Hana said in feigned thoughtfulness, pretending to stroke her cheek in as if pondering deeply, “but the thing is pal, that ain’t gonna be happening so long as I’m watching you from my desk. And trust me; I’m going to be watching you _every_ second until you’re sent to court.

Seeing so-called big shots snivelling in cells, well…its real calming, you know? Like having my own personal bonsai tree.”

 

And with a parting smile, she set off towards the main doors, that same grin slowly becoming more genuine as she heard the frustrated snarls from behind her as she walked.

 

*

 

The Queen pursed her lips on the authority side of her desk and nodded to Mako, who pulled out a large briefcase and opened it for her client to see.

 

“All this money? For lil’ old _me_?”

 

“We’re changin’ plans. We can’t hire assassins anymore – now that that gang war’s started, that Song kid will be expectin’ attacks left right and centre…so ya spyin’ on them. If that little shit Fawkes was able to do it, then ya gonna have no problem. Not to mention ya already one of Doomfist’s’ most trusted allies.”

“ _Respected_. He knows better than to trust me.”

 

“Then just do what ya usually do. Suck up to him, get into ‘is good books, I don’t care – just give me info round the clock, understand? And make sure to keep another eye on Song. It’s time the fuzz knew not to mess wi’ me.”

 

Sombra finished examining her nails and snapped the briefcase shut, her devil smile rivalling the Queen’s own.

 

“Don’t worry, _amiga_. You’ll have your information. You’ve already found a way to earn my loyalty in a way that Ogudimu never had. Buying it.”

 

*

 

“There’s gotta be a way outta here…c’mon, there’s gotta be…”

 

“If you say that one more time, I will remove your vocal cords with my bare hands.”

 

Jamison whipped around on his injured leg, causing him to hiss in pain as he faced his stoically-faced cellmate.

 

“Well, ya ain’t exactly helpin’, are ya? Who arrested ya anyway, the fashion police?”

 

“I’m a doctor. This is a lab coat. I need it to stay clean while I carry out my experi – I mean, my surgeries.”

 

Jamison growled, actually baring his teeth.

 

“So what ya doin’ in ‘ere, then?”

 

“If you must know, I was carrying out medical operations without a license so as to earn more money. Mob bosses pay much more for brainless lackeys to be stitched up than the healthcare union ever did.”

 

“What in the hell do ya need all that money _for_ , anyways?”

 

“Ah, now that’s the _fun_ part.” Moira smiled, a sudden gleam that screamed nothing but danger appearing in her eyes. Though determined not to show it, Jamison made a mental note never to be within a five metre distance of her if he ever saw it again. “I run small…how shall l put it… _projects_ on the side. I need many substances and items that most people in the medical profession would frown upon, and I thus often have to dabble in and out of the black market once in a while.”

 

She simply shrugged as a response to Jamison’s own stupefied expression.

 

“Hearts, livers and kidneys don’t simply just walk out of a donor’s body, you know. It’s hard work.”

 

Jamison’s mouth moved soundlessly for a few seconds and Moira vaguely wondered whether she’d used too many sentence in a single explanation for his brain to comprehend.

 

“’Old on…so you’re a doctor, right?”

 

“I do believe I’ve just told you that, but your statement of the obvious is very much appreciated.”

 

“Well…if I helped ya get outta here in exchange fer ya helpin’ me become king of the criminal underworld, would ya join me?”

 

Moira just let out a dry, humourless laugh that made his blood boil.

 

“King? _You_?” she just smirked as she brushed a loose strand of ginger hair out of her eye, “Well, it _is_ quite an amusing little thought. And I _am_ in need of a few more organs here and there…”

 

Jamison decided to sit down on one of the steel benches, instantly regretting doing so as the cold metal bruised his arse slightly.

 

“You have a deal, you unimpressive little nobody,” she eventually said, removing herself from her leaning position against the wall. “So long as we are equal partners in this, I will help you and whatever gormless drones you may have under your employment, bearing in mind you pay me monthly. If you by any means cease to either pay or amuse me, I still reserve the right to experiment on you instead and harvest your limbs for further research.”

 

She looked down at Jamison’s twisted right ankle. “Not that there isn’t any better ones on the market…” she muttered.

 

“Equal partners…reserve the right… _what_?” Jamison asked, his mouth hanging open slightly as he counted the terms off on his fingers.

 

“I will join you. I will help you, if you pay me. If you do not, I will do experiments on you. _Comprendez?”_  Moira repeated, emphasising every word through her teeth and speaking in the most patronising way possible.  Jamison put down his hands and just nodded.

 

“Now all you have to do is get us out of here.”

 

*

 

Mako nursed a glass of scotch and chewed a cigar behind his bandana, despite not having lit the thing. His doctor had forbidden it. Politely.

 

It was a Sunday, meaning the club didn’t open for lunchtimes. That suited him just fine. No noise, no bustling of other staff, just plenty of space for him to squeeze his generously proportioned body into a bar stool and listen to it creak under his weight as he thought to himself.

 

The cheeky girl had long since left, making sure to slip in a snide remark about pigs in his direction before skipping out of the club like an overexcite leprechaun. If the Queen hadn’t needed her so badly, he would have grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and jammed a steel rod so far up her nose that she’d end up having nostrils like one herself. But that was just the thing – the Queen needed her.

 

Suffice to say, Mako wasn’t very happy with the direction the Queen was taking things. This was a war and they should defend their territory the way they always defended their territory – with gunfire, blood and an excessive amount of gratuitous violence. Not with this newfound “sneaking-around-each-others-backs” bullshit. It was a waste of time.

 

But still, his was not to reason why. He was paid to stand there and look menacing, something he barely even had to put any work into. It wasn’t like he could do anything, anyway. If he plotted anything against his boss, no doubt there’d be twenty arse-kissers within the staff looking for top job who would tell her immediately. He slightly missed the days when you could just throw someone you disagreed with off the roof of a thirty-storey building. Nowadays they’d probably ring every single one of their contacts and put a bounty on your head on the way down.

 

Feeling slightly inflated from the alcohol, he figured he was allowed to let his thoughts wander in a dangerous direction. Like towards that Fawkes kid that this whole operation was being bent over a post for. The guy had managed to get in the good books of another gang and reported a whole boatload of the Queen’s plans before she found out. It would have made Mako impressed if he didn’t want to snap the weasel’s other leg already.

 

Not that Mako himself would ever do something like that. It would be foolish and silly. He was happy with his lot for now and that was the way it was going to stay.

 

“Keep it together” he mumbled to himself in what he originally assumed what a quiet voice. However, his timing was unfortunately coinciding with the Queen walking up to the bar and sitting down next to him.

 

“Sombra’s gonna do her job just fine,” she said calmly, setting down a few sheets of paper covered in notes on the counter. She’d clearly misinterpreted his rare utterance. Probably for the best. “We’ll just wait in the wings an’ let her do the dirty work. What we paid her is gonna be next to _nothin’_ compared to what we’ll end up stealin’ from that muscle-bound moron.”

 

Mako licked his lips and it took him a few seconds to realise he was nervous. So _that_ was what it felt like.

 

“Ya absolutely sure ya wanna do this, boss?” he asked, the words spilling from behind the bandana before he could stop himself. “I mean, we’ve been in wars before, yeah, but…this is big, y’know? Takin’ over.”

 

The Queen slowly craned her neck around to face him, eyes squinting as if she too could barely believe that he was questioning her.

 

“Yes, Mako, I am” she said firmly, he voice lowering to a hush, as she raised a single finger and placed a black-painted nail on the upper half of his nose. If it was anyone else he would have crushed the weedy little limb the moment it made contact with his skin, but whether it was out of fear or respect, he let her do it. “Ya not gettin’ scared on me here, are ya?”

 

“No, ma’am” he responded, draining the last of his scotch to avoid her gaze.

 

She held her squint for a few more seconds before smiling in an almost fond way.

 

“Glad I can trust ya” she said, a lot more smoothly than before. He’d rarely ever seen this side to her. It was almost human.

 

Without another word, she stood up and turned to address him once more.

 

“Keep an eye on the bar, yeah? I gotta go get some more stuff from the office.”

 

Mako attempted to take another drink without realising the glass was empty.

 

“Yes, ma’am. Of course.”

 

It wasn’t until he heard the office door bang shut that he released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. That had been strange. That had been altogether _unpleasant_. He had no idea what had happened to make him feel that way, but it made his gut twist and it definitely wasn’t the scotch.

 

Deciding that the glass wasn’t going to refill if he continued to sit there and stare at it, he heaved himself up off the trembling barstool and let out a sigh. Beating some slackers ought to put those thoughts (whatever they were) out of his head for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, those sound like TRAITOR THOUGHTS!
> 
> Many thanks to a recent user named “Caitlin+Mendoza” who took the time to view and post comments on all my stories and encouraged me to continue. This one goes out to you, mate - your support really warmed my heart!  
> As always, comments are appreciated from everyone, no matter what they say. I will not block criticisms (so long as it is not obviously abuse) as it's all package and parcel of using this website. Anything is appreciated!


	11. AUTHOR'S NOTE (DUN-DUN-DUN)

Hey, folks. Just a little note to say that I am...

...NOT discontinuing this story! The reason I'm posting this is just to explain that right now I'm suffering from a bit of a writer's block. I have ideas...just none for this particular story, is all. So if I post the first chapter for a new story or anything like that, just be aware that I'm still going to update my others as soon as possible. You guys have been the best with your comments, kudos and feedback and I want to give you the story y'all deserve. Rest assured, this will keep on going.

Thanks for all your support

-Niichts


	12. The Gang That Doesn't Exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great. A dead cop. Because a raging gang war just wasn't enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys sure did give me some good ideas, as well as motivating me enough to think about how the story is going so far and what I want to do with it. Hopefully this new chapter will have been worth the wait!

“Fawkes” a nondescript, bored-looking policewoman half-shouted at him, “your boss has posted your bail. You’re free to go for now.”

 

Jamison stopped midway in his attempt to chew through the holding cell bars and turned to Moira, grinning sheepishly.

 

“See? We’re out. Just like I planned.”

“Your foresight is truly something to be admired.” Moira replied sarcastically, unfurling her arms and moving to follow him, but they were separated from each other via the policewoman’s arm once Jamison had left the cell.

 

“ _You’re_ free to go,” she repeated, sounding a little more impatient this time, “your friend here _isn’t_. Now keep moving.”

 

Jamison was about to protest when a nearby “ _ahem”_ caught his attention and he slowly wheeled around to see Doomfist leaning against a desk with a look on his face them made him want to run back into the cell and cower in the furthest possible corner.

 

“Oh…hi, boss.”

 

Doomfist offered no immediate response and instead stood up to his full height, towering over Jamison somewhat and causing him to nearly trip over his own injured foot as he was forced to lean backwards.

 

“What did I say?”

 

“Wh – I mean, excuse me, boss?”

 

“What did I say to you, the day when I took you on as a spy?”

 

“Uh…”

 

“I said that if you cause my business to fail, or let me down in any way, I’d kill you. I’d kill you very slowly and very painfully, do you remember?”

 

“Uh…” Jamison managed, feeling himself blanching.

 

“So you can imagine my anger when I find out that not only have you poorly planned out a raid so reckless that it gets my trusted head of security killed, but you have then promptly attempted to raise taxes on _my_ alcohol imports without asking me first.”

 

“Sir, I can – I can – I…” Jamison attempted, his voice slowly fading as Doomfist leaned even further forwards, looking him dead in the eyes.

 

“I am infuriated, Fawkes. _Infuriated_.”

 

“What are ya gonna do?” Jamison uttered weakly, certain he wouldn’t like the answer in any way, shape, or form.

 

Doomfist broke off the glare and leaned back a little, doing up his cufflinks as Jamison rubbed his now-sore neck after all the craning he had to do.

 

“I assure you that there is nothing I would like to do better than punish you, Fawkes” he said in a calm manner, but something in there made it pretty clear that anyone who even so much as _breathed_ incorrectly was getting murdered. “But alas, I also find myself in a dangerous personal position. My main confidant, Reyes, is now dead. Sombra dabbles too much in blackmail for me to ever trust her properly. And Amelie…well, Amelie is only really on board for the pain and suffering.”

 

He stopped talking for a split second to spare Jamison another piercing glance, making it clear that if it had not been for these circumstances, he would have been having another unfortunate run-in with the woman right now. One that he wouldn’t walk away from.

 

“And so, I am faced with the danger of having no-one to turn to except you, Mister Fawkes.”

 

“Y-yes sir, I getcha, I mean, I understand, sir-“

 

A finger the size of a rolling pin shot up, missing Jamison’s nose by inches.

 

“No. You don’t. Trust me when I say that upon hearing the news, I was content to let you rot away in that cell. You could have faced all those charges and I would never have come to your aid. It is only due to the intelligence and compassion of Miss Zhou here that I even so much as _considered_ coming in here to put you to good use.“

 

He swiftly moved the finger away from Jamison’s face and towards Mei, who he hadn’t even noticed was in the room with them. She didn’t wave, only acknowledging his presence through terrified eye contact as she attempted to look as small as possible despite the bright colours of her dress. Not that he blamed her though. The main reason he’d failed to notice her beforehand was because he was too preoccupied with trying not to shit himself.

 

“’kay sir, I understand” Jamison managed, willing his heart rate to return to normal. Then his original concern sprung back to mind, “Also sir, I’ve managed to find a black market doctor who’s agreed ta stitch up ya men for a much lower price than any ‘a the others. She’s agreed to support us for the rest ‘o this war.”

 

He tipped Moira an enormously panicked wink as she opened her mouth to protest, to which she quickly shut it again.

 

“Fine,” Doomfist huffed like an angry bull, pulling a wrapped wad of notes from his inside jacket pocket and shoving them into the nameless policewoman’s hands. “But don’t think this gets you off the hook at all. You’re responsible for finding her some form of new accommodation and I still want you back at the club tonight, understand?”

 

“Yes, sir” Jamison replied, as the policewoman hesitantly lowered her arm and he took deep breath to stop himself from collapsing with relief.

 

“One last chance, Fawkes. And I must add, Amelie was very disappointed that she couldn’t carve you up. Fail me again and I’ll let her have a free reign.”

 

And with those encouraging words, he turned on his heel and strode out of the bullpen without so much as a goodbye. Mei swiftly rushed past, only giving the smallest of smiles as she ran after him, her backless dress catching the eyes and wolf-whistles of quite a few male officers. But Jamison was just too mentally exhausted after that encounter to even feel angry at them for leering like that. He just couldn’t tell whether it was the cops or the gangsters who were worse in this town anymore.

 

Once he felt able to start walking without collapsing, he noticed Moira standing right beside him with one of the smuggest grins he’d ever seen in his life plastered across her face.

 

“Your gutless whimpering displays such power and might, oh glorious king of the underworld.”

 

“Shut it.”

 

*

 

Hana downed the last of her coffee as she approached the alleyway that was cordoned off with neon tape. Another late night under her belt that could only be solved by caffeine, all thanks to the mounting gang war. Sometimes the crimes didn’t even involve gangs – just people who wanted an excuse to vent out their anger with a crowbar. Praying on the homeless or the innocent homeowners as corrupt cops sat by and did nothing.

 

She stopped by the tape, nodding to one of the officers standing guard. Throwing the now-empty plastic cup into the nearest bin, she silently willed herself to calm down. It was six in the morning and the sun was only just starting to rise, thus meaning it was much too early in the morning for her to think too much into the situation. She’d solve this case and then onto the next one. Eventually, the war would end, just as they always did, and she may even have a decent Christmas this year.

 

At least that’s what she was hoping until Orisa walked up to her, her smile of greeting exceedingly tight.

 

“Bad news,” she said, as Hana ducked under the tape and joined her in the alley, “It’s one of ours.”

 

Great. A dead cop. Just what they needed. Hana knew she should feel sorry for her dead comrade, but she in all honestly just felt depressed. Once again, the fighting had resulted in another loss of life – even if they had been on the mob’s payroll, death was still death.

 

She decided it was high time to ask the dreaded question.

 

“Who is it?”

 

_Please no-one close, please no-one close, please no-one-_

“We haven’t figured that out yet.”

 

Hana’s internal monologue broke apart and she took a few minutes to find her tongue in confusion.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Take a look” Orisa replied simply, motioning to the far end of the alley. As Hana got closer, ignoring the steam billowing from vents and outlets from the buildings on either side, focusing on the scene.

 

A solitary red dumpster was situated by the damp, moss-coated wall, a figure sat atop of it in a casual manner.

 

No, not a figure. A corpse.

 

His (or her, Hana noted grimly,) face was hidden behind a Mexican-style skeleton mask, the paint faded and scratched, the black ink slightly smudged over the bone white. A clashing brown cowboy hat covered the top of the head, adorned with nothing but an arrow through the top. In fact, the only way one could tell it was a police officer was because of the clothing worn. The ID badge was missing, but the clothes were unmistakeably standard police uniform.

 

Hana squinted at the dumpster, noticing that the words “ _Deadlock Gang_ ” were etched just below the corpse’s dangling feet.

 

“Dear God.”

 

“I know” Orisa said grimly, pulling on a pair of gloves and reaching over towards the corpse’s face. Hana went round to the other side of the dumpster to get a better view. “Let’s bite the bullet and see who this is.”

 

The hat was taken off with one hand, the mask with the other. Behind it was the round face of a middle-aged man, blue eyes and dark hair.

 

“Jason Newell” Orisa stated simply, the lack of emotion disturbing Hana somewhat. “Did you know him?”

 

Hana shrugged. She felt slightly guilty, but was unable to stop being too relieved over the fact that it wasn’t someone she knew very well. “I saw him around the bullpen from time to time, yeah.”

 

Orisa leaned in close, her voice lowering.

 

“Not to speak ill of the dead Hana, but as far as I knew, he wasn’t the nicest guy.”

 

Hana frowned at the now-hushed tone of her mentor. If she was bad-mouthing the recently deceased, it _must_ be serious.

 

 “What, did he have enemies on the force?”

 

Orisa shook her head. “No. In a way, he was quite popular, particularly within the more corrupt circles. There was a rumour going around that he was the one handing out payoffs from Doomfist to other officers in the precinct.”

 

Orisa pulled out a plastic bag, placing the mask inside. The hat was handed to a nearby forensics specialist.

 

“No corrupt police officer would ever want to kill off their main source of income. It would be like terminating your own bank account. That’s what’s bothering me.”

 

Hana shrugged, deciding to step back as she noticed the smell.

 

“Rival gang, maybe? Someone trying to send a message?”

 

“It’s possible, but if the rumours were true, he worked for Doomfist. One of the biggest crime bosses around. You’d need, if you’ll excuse the coarseness of my language, some pretty big balls to want to confront him in such a way.”

 

Hana nodded slightly, then turned on her heel and started to walk back to their car in that determined way Orisa had long since become accustomed too.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“To see Ogudimu” Hana shouted back, not turning around, “Maybe he’ll know why someone would want to off one of his operatives.”

 

“ _Subtly!_ ” Orisa shouted the reminder, but she had absolutely no doubt in her mind that it most likely fell on deaf ears. It was probably best to follow. With a gun or two for when things inevitably fell apart.

 

*

 

Ogudimu sat down at the table in the centre of the auditorium, giving himself a view through the massive window on the opposite end of the room out onto the city streets. Tucking a napkin into his collar, the waitress placed down his lunch – a roasted turkey with vegetables – and said “Enjoy your lunch, sir” before leaving without a second glance. Not exactly hospitable, but he supposed that came with the package when you were renowned for being physically capable of ripping an adult’s arms from their sockets. People never really wanted to start a friendly conversation with a criminal kingpin in the event that it turns sour.

 

And sour was indeed how he currently felt.

 

His silent glowering was interrupted by the sound of hushed voices at the door, followed by the rhythmic clapping of formal shoes. He averted his gaze, and couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the figure currently approaching his table.

 

“Officer Song” he remarked, allowing the surprise to enter his tone. He saw no need in deceiving anyone yet, even if they were one of the biggest legal threats to their livelihood. “How unusual to see you.”

 

“Can it, Ogudimu” Hana started, discarding Orisa’s warning instantly. She could almost hear her mentor face-palming, but ignored it so she could cut the crap and get to the crux of the matter. “I know we don’t like each other and that this conversation isn’t gonna be civil. All I need is to ask you something, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

 

Ogudimu’s eyebrow threatened to rise further, but he set down his knife and fork, only haven eaten a slice of the turkey so far.

 

“As long as it takes under three minutes, I’m all ears.”

 

Hana pulled up a chair and sat despite not receiving an invitation to do so. Just to see how far she could push it. Ogudimu, to his credit, barely even reacted at all besides leaning back slightly in his own.

 

“A cop was murdered early this morning, around three or four ‘o clock. We don’t have any suspects so far except for a group supposedly named the Deadlock Gang, but there’ve been people stating that he may have worked for you. Obviously we can’t jail him anymore, seeing as how he’s dead, but we can do the second best thing: use his criminal ties to find the killer quickly.”

 

Ogudimu smiled slightly, taking a sip from a whiskey glass, examining the ice as he did so.

 

“That’s all very tragic, Miss Song,” he said, in a tone that would have passed for sympathetic had Hana not known him better, “but why on earth would I know anything about this man?”

 

Hana just blinked.

 

“He was a corrupt official under your employ handing out payoffs to other corrupt officials. Who are _also_ under your employ. You’d probably want to keep tabs on your main source of control within the police department.”

The burly man smiled, the expression on his face indicating that it was taking great restraint for him not to smile and roll his eyes.

 

“A general need not know every single foot soldier in his army, Miss Song. As you’ve just said, there are plenty more police officers out there that take a little… _extra_ on the side from me. If one goes, they are simply replaced. A brutal strategy, but rousingly effective. I do not miss them, nor will the person who takes over their position. In all honesty, I am not entirely sure why _you_ would, either.”

 

That stung. Hana narrowed her eyes as she spoke.

 

“Because while he may have been a dishonest scumbag, he was still a citizen of New York and therefore deserves to rest in peace. This killer needs to be caught. Not even _you_ want someone insane enough to dress up their victim’s _corpse_ running around the streets.”

 

Ogudimu finally put down his glass and decided it was worth letting his lunch go slightly cold.

 

“Mister Fawkes!” he called towards the stage, pulling the napkin from his collar as he did so, “could you please come out and assist us?”

 

The two of them went silent, as a hushed voice emanated from one of the doors leading backstage. Then a woman’s, sounding slightly panicky, whilst the male went _shush_ a few times. It went dead quiet again, until the uneven thump of heavy footfalls came closer and closer and the door swung open not too gently.

 

_That dirty rat bastard._

 

Jamison Fawkes, despite having had his suit smartened considerably, still looked dishevelled and disorientated as he limped towards the table, until he froze upon catching sight of Hana.

 

“Relax, she isn’t going to bite you” Ogudimu chuckled, motioning him closer, though Hana only just managed to resist the temptation when he sidled over to his boss’s side, trying to be as close to the man as possible. “Mister Fawkes, I’ve just been informed of a recent murder that Officer Song has had the displeasure of investigating. Do you have any knowledge of…what was his name, Officer?”

 

“Jason Newell” Hana half-growled.

 

“Officer Newell? Or perhaps a certain group named the Deadlock Gang?”

 

“They don’t exist.”

 

Ogudimu’s eyebrow shot up again as he turned to face him, and Hana was surprised enough to even stop glowering for a second.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“The Deadlock Gang. They don’t exist no more. Back when I first start workin’ for the Queen-“ Hana noted the way he effectively spat out the name, “-they were our main criminal rival. They were hard to pin down, since they were always usin’ code, switchin’ hideouts all the time, stuff like that.”

 

“So what happened?” Hana asked, pulling out her notepad and taking over the questioning.

 

Jamison shrugged, pulling a face.

 

“We beat ‘em. After getting’ wind of a safe house they owned, we raided the place, captured the leaders and had ‘em executed. They’d always been pretty small to ensure safety, so the remainin’ ones just ran and we never saw ‘em again.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah, positive. The Queen had the place converted into the club and it’s been like that ever since.”

 

“Even so, this killer obviously wants to make a comeback and send a message.” At least her original suspicions had been confirmed. “Now I just need to find out why they’ve exclusively targeted a policeman.”

 

She stood, not bothering to spare the lanky boy another look in case she ended up becoming cursed into developing a nose bleed of her own.

“Good day, Mister Ogudimu” she said simply, before rising from her chair and stalking out of the auditorium at top speed before he could stop her or do anything.

 

“Quite an impulsive young lady, wouldn’t you say, Mister Fawkes?” the dark-skinned man asked, diverting his attention back to his dinner. Jamison seemed momentarily flustered by his sudden casualness.

 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess so, boss.”

 

Ogudimu simply _humphed_ into his glass and motioned Jamison to leave, which he did as quickly as possible, leaving the crime lord to eat. And, for that matter, mull things over.

 

He wasn’t too sure why he hadn’t killed the boy upon learning about Reyes’ death, but he was glad he hadn’t. Whilst there were no doubt many other men who vying for the vacant space, he couldn’t help but be somewhat impressed by the youth’s slipperiness. Whenever he found a reason to consider getting rid of him, the boy would manage to give him another reason to keep him on. On the other hand, he could still bite off more than he could chew and it didn’t take a genius to work out that he was planning something against him.

 

Much like half of the people under his employ.

 

Ogudimu snorted into his alcohol as he took a second sip.

 

The boy seemed to spend a lot of time with that singer. What was her name, again? Mal or Mia or something like that? He’d never really paid much attention to the hiring of entertainment around the club, always leaving the process more open for Angela.

 

What did he confide in her, he wondered.

 

Still. At least he knew what the police were focused on for now. It would no doubt allow him to pull some more risqué moves against the Queen while their backs were turned. It was annoying that there was a killer out there trying to threaten him with a gang that didn’t exist, but they could be dealt with later. Business, as his father would always say, came first.

 

Doomfist finally took another bite of turkey. It was stone cold by now, but that was the smallest of his thoughts as he continued to look over the street outside.

 

Today was shaping up to be a good day indeed.

 

*

 

The crate of skull masks made a muffled _whump_ as they were dropped onto the ground by a burly figure obscured by the night’s cloud.

 

“Nice one” came the twang of Southern drawl. Feminine but fierce. Soft but menacing. “I sure do hope you didn’t have to kill too many folks to get ‘em.”

 

The burly figure deigned to comment.

 

“Still, we got what we came for. Don’t wanna sound cliché or nothin’, but the cops ain’t even had a _taste_ of what’s comin’ next. It’s gonna be _great_.”

 

An owl hooted somewhere. The female sighed and headed back into the barn, checking to make sure the owner’s body was still rotting there nicely.

 

“Get ‘em ready, will ya Bob?” she yawned, stretching her arms out with a satisfying popping noise. She focused her gaze on the dim lights of the city’s skyscrapers, five miles away.

 

“Come next week we’re gonna give this town one hell of a fuckin’ rodeo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doomfist is pissed. Jamison is building a following. Hana is on the trail. Commence the fun.
> 
> I originally doubted whether I'd bring the likes of Ashe and Bob into this (I highly doubt I'm spoiling anything by mentioning who they are), but the more I thought about it, the more they gave me ideas. Especially when it came to them being criminals, obviously.
> 
> As always, reviews! You guys seriously are the best with your feedback and your constructive criticism!

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, I'm not quitting my Junkenstein story. Just taking a break to build hype for Christmas in my own special (and rather grim) way. Murder - the perfect gift for anyone! As always, leave me those comments, speculations and ideas - they're fantastic motivation for me to continue my stories and give you guys more.


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